The Demon and Doctor Spengler
by Winterfrost15
Summary: When workers at a local museum mysteriously disappear, the Ghostbusters decide to investigate...and soon realize that they are up against an incredible and dangerous foe. (On hiatus)
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Dennis Payne, known to almost everyone as simply "Denny," was working late at the museum when he had his encounter with the Demon.

It had been near midnight - 11:50 pm to be precise - and Denny, along with his fellow workers, had been restoring forgotten tunnels and long-abandoned rooms beneath what was now the New York Museum of World History. It was a basement of sorts which was nowadays used to store miscellaneous artifacts of questionable and perhaps rare value. In some rooms there were models of dinosaur bones, halfway pieced together by the museum's archaeologists in training. In others, items of Egyptian or Aztec origin sat collecting cobwebs, sarcophagi and sacrificial daggers mingling with spiders and dust.

Many rooms, however, were not used, and therefore were generally avoided and eventually, forgotten about, by the people of the Museum. It was among these forbidden alcoves in which Denny and his friends found themselves on the night of September 22, 1984. The first day of the fall equinox.

* * *

It had been a rough day so far for the restoration crew at the World History Museum. For hours they had worked to improve the basement's structural integrity, install new support beams, and salvage any part of the remaining edifice that they could. The whole process had been grueling to say the least, and Denny was finally starting to feel an ache in his bones because of it.

"Rotten work so far, aye Robbie?" he called up to his friend and partner Robert "Robbie" Calhoune. Denny himself was currently dangling by a rope and harness over the edge of a theater balcony - a theater which was purported to have been built sometime in the 1800s and had had the existing museum built around it. Being that the theater had sunken underground, the walls and corridors that surrounded it today had been somewhat easier to construct.

"It ain't all bad, Dens," Robbie called back, his cheerful, rosy face and tidy brown hair popping into view. "At least we's gettin' paid, and fed to boot!"

Denny chuckled. "Yeah," he said. "A few lousy paychecks and some cold deli sandwiches from the Museum lunchroom. Big whoop."

"Hey, at least it's somethin'," Robbie countered, also laughing. "Now quit 'cha moanin' and start workin' them fingers of yours, ya big lug! We's still got a lotta' work to do, and only so much time to do it."

Denny rolled his eyes. As if he needed Robbie to tell him his job. Honestly, the nerve of some people!

With a twirling motion of his forefinger, Denny signaled his partner to lower him farther. One of the support pillars holding part of the upper stage arch in place was weak in several areas - so it was Denny's job to reassess the damage, take measurements and record his findings. The carpenters and professional builders would see to the rest.

Gently Robbie cranked the winch, lowering Denny towards another problem spot on the paint-chipped, limestone pillar. Denny, notepad in hand, scribbled out some quick observations before pulling out a ruler and marking the exact size of the fissure which he now faced. As far as he could tell, it had either been weather-worn or suffered from the effects of an earthquake, thus causing it to deteriorate. Water often leaked into the basement after heavy storms (water which had given the team many problems in the past weeks) so his conclusions felt plausible enough. Still, one had to make sure, and examine every minute detail down to the minerals.

"Fourteen inches across," Denny shouted. "Maybe three inches deep. This one's a killer, Robbie."

Silence.

Then. . .

_"Geeeetttt oooouuuuttttt. . ."_

Denny glanced up in confusion. "Robbie?" he called. "Was that you?"

Robbie did not answer, nor could Denny see him. Annoyed, Denny tugged on the rope that held him suspended in the air. "C'mon, Robert, this ain't funny. Pull me up."

As he waited he glanced down below him, and suddenly realized that the dozen or so men who had been working in the theater had vanished. Not a trace remained of them except the occasional tool or machine scattered here and there, indicating where the others had previously been. Had the boss called a coffee break or something and Denny hadn't realized it? No, that was impossible. His boss was a loud fellow who always made himself heard whether people wanted him to or not - if he had called for a break, Denny would've heard him. So what had happened?

Then the low, whispering hiss of a voice came again, seeming to come from right beside his ear.

_"Yoouu shhhooouuuld nooot beee heeeerrre,"_ it warned him.

"Go to hell!" Denny yelled and, closing his eyes, unhooked himself from the rope. He fell some fifteen feet to the stage, landing in a crumpled heap. His arm and stomach hurt and his head rung, but he otherwise felt fine.

Scrambling up quickly, he got back on his feet and looked around wildly. All around him echoed laughter, a sinister, inhuman sound that chilled him to his core. Finally he turned and ran. He had to find the other guys, but mostly importantly, he had to get away from this cursed place. The Museum curators had been right after all, he realized . .the basement _was_ haunted by the Demon!

_"You shall never leave here alive, Dennis Payne,"_ the wretched creature hissed with sudden clarity in its tone.

That was when Denny felt a sharp weight against his back, the force knocking him to the ground. He tried to squirm free but it was no use. He knew the Demon had him.

He had just enough time to let out a scream before utter darkness blotted out his soul.

**Author's Note:**

**Hello again! So, the Demon and Dr. Spengler is finally here! I hope this prologue sparks some interested parties.**

**I shall probably post whenever I finish a chapter, so delays may vary. Hopefully this will get my muse up enough to write more for this fandom! I have other projects I'm currently working on as well, so bear with me while I try to finish/continue those. I will not abandon this one, however! The idea of it has just been so nagging - to quit now would be preposterous, fellow Busters. :)**


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_September 26th, 1984, four days after the Museum incident. . ._

The noon sunlight glinted off the impressive red structure that was the Ghostbusters Firehouse. A stray beam illuminated the sign, causing the ghost emblem to glow a beautiful, blinding white. Around the Firehouse people drifted by, some looking up at the building as they passed, others walking on, unaware and uninterested.

Inside, the Firehouse was much more intriguing. Inside was where Peter Venkman, Ray Stantz, Egon Spengler, and Winston Zeddemore lived, breathed, and worked to stop ghosts from taking over New York City.

At the moment, however, these "Ghostbusters" as they called themselves were enjoying a nice lunch of pizza and beer.

"I still can't wrap my mind around it," Peter, the mouthy member of the team, said, raising a bottle of Budweiser to his lips. "First Egon breaks his ankle and doesn't tell anyone about it for two whole weeks. .and then he admits his love for Janine! It's just been insane."

Ray, labeled by Peter as the "heart" of the Ghostbusters, smiled and shook his head. "I feel you, Venkman," he said, as he bit off a large chunk of pepperoni pizza. "Things have been really interesting around here, especially for Spengler. He's really come out of his shell now!"

"But that's good," Winston, often referred to as the strength and will of the group, pointed out. "I mean, yeah, he's still pretty quiet at times, and likes to hang around with his mushrooms. But finding confidence and love seems to have softened his cold demeanor. And that's great!"

Both Ray and Peter nodded in agreement.

"Where is Egon, now that we've mentioned it?" Peter said, looking around for their bespectacled friend. They were all sitting in the Firehouse's downstairs lounge. It was smaller than the one upstairs (which had an awesome pool table) but was more suitable for small gatherings such as this, where they were all just talking and not trying to work at the same time.

"Dunno," Ray said, taking another bite of his pizza. "He said he'd be down here once he readjusted his cast."

A month earlier, in August, Egon had broken his ankle. He had acquired the injury just before the team's battle with Gozer; a sinkhole had opened up in front of Dana Barrett's apartment building, the center of Gozer's power, and had for a few moments swallowed up the team. They had all climbed out almost instantly, however, and with a crowd of onlookers cheering them on, they had proceeded on their way.

Egon, on the other hand, continued to walk around with his injury, not telling the guys. It wasn't until a couple weeks later that Janine Melnitz - the team's secretary - managed to pry the truth out of him. She had also learned other things about Egon that she hadn't known before - he had siblings, and a family, all of whom seemed to have cast him out of their lives because of his beliefs in the paranormal world. Janine had discovered as well that Egon loved her, just as much as she loved him.

And ever since Egon had shown his true feelings, he and Janine had been very, very close.

"I think I can guess what Egon's up to," Winston said, a smile forming on his face.

Peter grinned. "Ooh, Winston, you dog," he said. "And to think you guys find _my_ mind to be in the gutter!"

Ray looked at the two of them blankly. "What're you both talking about?" he asked.

Peter laughed. "Oh come on, Ray! Surely that male testosterone of yours isn't blind to the facts."

"What facts?"

It was Winston's turn to laugh. "Should I break it to him, or should you?" he asked Peter.

"You three better not have eaten all the pizza!" a voice shouted, stopping either man from enlightening the still befuddled Ray. The next instant, Egon appeared, leaning on his crutches for support. Because of the nature and severity of his injured ankle a little less than a month ago, he was required by the doctor to wear a cast on part of his left leg, and have crutches. It was a difficult change, but Egon was managing fairly well, and could still perform experiments in his lab. His doctor had told him to not overwork himself, get plenty of rest (at least 8 hours, not the 14 minutes Egon was so accustomed to) and also to take pain medicine at the appropriate times.

Beside Egon on his right side stood Janine. She had a supportive arm around his back; her free hand had reached out to caress his arm upon arriving in the lounge. Both individuals seemed upbeat and happy to chat.

"Hey, Spengs!" Peter greeted, motioning his friend over to a chair. "Don't worry, there's still plenty of pizza left. Dig in."

Slowly Egon made his way over to the proffered seat, minding where he placed his crutches. Janine helped him, keeping her arm against his back comfortingly. After a moment Egon was able to settle down, while Janine pulled a chair up next to him. His crutches leaned at a safe angle against the table where the team all sat.

"So, any new developments?" Egon asked, as he grabbed a slice of pizza with sausage, olives, and bell peppers and a can of Coca-Cola.

"Well, if you mean if there are any new developments in my sex life, then I'm sorry to say no," Peter replied.

Egon and Ray both rolled their eyes, while Janine and Winston groaned.

"I meant with the ghost traps, Peter," Egon sighed. "You know, the major project that we've been working on for nearly a month now?"

"Okay, okay, sheesh," Peter said. "I was only trying to get you to crack a smile, Egon. No need to be nippy."

"Anyway," Ray said, clearing his throat to render whatever Peter was going to say next a passing curiosity of the imagination. "I've been looking at our new blueprints for the traps, Spengler, and I think I've figured out a way to fix that fault we've been encountering with the closing mechanisms."

The two former psychology professors then went on to discuss their recent observations of the modified ghost traps. Ever since health official Walter Peck destroyed their containment grid, they had had to rely more heavily on the traps for their primary method of spiritual ensnarement. So far they had encountered very few problems, and were even planning on rebuilding the containment grid starting next month.

"So," Peter eventually piped up, finding his chance to tease Egon openly. "When are you and Janine gonna get married, Egon?"

The brains of the Ghostbusters visibly reddened, pushing his glasses higher up his nose in a nervous gesture. Janine, however, was a bit put off, but not as mad as she had been a month ago, when she had nearly destroyed the Firehouse (and Peter) with a proton pack.

"That's none of your business, Dr. Venkman," Janine replied with a touch of coldness.

"Oh c'mon, you two!" Peter insisted, swinging out of his seat so that he could grip the couples' shoulders. "Look, if you want I could be best man. And Ray could be the flower girl."

Egon couldn't help it. He started to laugh. Everyone else followed suited except for Ray, who looked annoyed.

"Totally uncool, Peter," he said.

"Au contraire, mon frere," Peter replied. "You would look dazzling in a frilly pink dress."

* * *

After everyone had their share of pizza, the team went their separate ways, off to do other things. Egon decided to sit with Janine at her desk and spend time with her. They chatted about random things, like the weather, recent ghostbusting cases, and how Peter could get his attitude straightened out. As they talked they also scanned over the latest edition of the _New York Times. _They weren't really searching for anything in particular, but after a time an interesting article on page 5 caught Egon's attention. It read as follows:

**DISAPPEARANCE OF WORKERS AT LOCAL MUSEUM BAFFLES POLICE**

_On the 22nd of September, workers at the New York Museum of World History were reported to have vanished without a trace. Museum curator Charles Moriarty claims that these sudden and unexplained disappearances are the work of an entity known as the Demon. The Demon is an infamous spirit which is said to have inhabitated the Museum since the late 1800s. Whether or not Mr. Moriarty's beliefs can be taken seriously, only the Ghostbusters would be able to guess. The police are still working to gather more details from the only person who this Demon seemed to have left behind, that of 47 year old Dennis Payne, of Western Manhattan. More information will be made public of this singular event as it is discovered._

Talk about fascinating! The guys would want to see this. Egon was certainly eager to find out more. This so-called "Demon" would be an interesting spirit to catch, if these disappearances were indeed due to supernatural causes.

"Is there a Mr. Spengler here?" a timid voice called out suddenly.

Egon and Janine looked up to see a slim youth standing in the doorway of the Firehouse. He had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and wore the navy blue uniform of a mailman.

"I'm Spengler," Egon called back.

The youth hurried over. "Package for you, sir," he said, handing Egon a rectangular shaped box.

"Thank you," Egon said, then accepted the youth's clipboard to sign off his name. Thus settled, the young mailman turned and hurried away.

Egon quietly slid the newspaper he was reading over to Janine, and looked at the sender's address. His face fell. Looking up, Janine saw the irritated, exhausted gleam in his deep brown eyes.

"Who is it from?" she asked tentatively.

"Elon," Egon groaned. "My brother."

He then turned the box so that Janine could read the written address on the taped on card.

_Elon Spengler_

_93 Murray Drive_

_Chicago, Illinois_

_A/C: 312_

"Your brother lives in Chicago?" Janine said. She was a bit surprised by this, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because some of her own family members resided there.

"Yeah." Egon looked far from pleased with the fact. "I wish he lived farther away, to be honest. I don't like knowing that he could just fly over here in a day or more's time and ruin my life all over again. Speaking of which, he probably rigged this box to squirt hot sauce at me. He did once before."

"Why hot sauce?"

"I'm allergic, and besides, it burns. And he likes seeing me upset by his immature pranks, as well. All in all, he's a sadist. Anyway, I'd better see what he sent me and why he sent it at all. It'll ease my conscious."

Pulling out a pocket knife, Egon cut away the tape. Soon finished, he put down his knife, opened the box flaps, and pulled out what was inside.

He first withdrew a book, which was entitled _The Complete Spotter's Guide for Fungi. _Egon looked at the volume, slightly surprised. He then removed the second and final item - a potted portabella mushroom.

"What in the name of Einstein?" Egon muttered, examining the mushroom specimen. He seemed even more shocked by this real live mushroom than the book, which was understandable really. Mushrooms were one of his areas of expertise.

Janine peered into the box, searching for a card of some sort. There was none. Then, as she picked up the book, a small piece of notebook paper fell out. Janine quickly grabbed it and read what it said.

_Happy early birthday, E.G! Here's a special gift to brighten up that serious soul of yours. :) _

"Wow," Janine said, passing the note over to Egon. "That actually sounds considerate, except for that last part about the serious soul."

Egon snorted, scanning over the note himself. "He prides himself on being thoughtful," he scoffed. "But he's just a cruel monster, if you ask me. He likes to hide it sometimes, but he's cruel nonetheless. Which is why I wonder why he even bothered to get me something at all, and so early at that. My birthday isn't until November. That's hardly the point, though. The point is, why would he contact me after twenty years and try to make amends, if that's even his motive? It's suspicious."

Janine shrugged, not sure what to say.

Egon scowled at the book and the mushroom. "Damn him," he said. "I bet he poisoned this mushroom so I'd get sick. It would be just like him to pull a joke like that."

Janine thought for a moment, looking at the newspaper Egon had slid over to her. Her gaze rested on the article of the disappearing workers. Intrigued, she began to read. When she was done she turned to Egon, who was still staring intently at his estranged brother's supposed gifts.

"Egon," she said.

"Hmm?"

"This article. . .it's very odd."

Egon perked up, his expression looking relieved and eager. "You think so too? I'm rather interested in this Demon creature myself. It sounds like an entity which could be studied at great length."

Pulling the paper closer to him, Janine let Egon read over the article again. When he looked up again he readjusted his glasses, a small smile gracing his face.

"I'll go tell the guys," he said. "This could be big."

He then grabbed his crutches, and with a little help from Janine he was able to stand. He was just about to leave the room when a hand on his chest halted him in his tracks. He looked down at Janine, a little worried frown tugging at his mouth. Before he could ask her what was wrong she cupped his face with one hand and kissed him softly.

As always when he and Janine kissed, Egon's heart soared. Steadying his left crutch with his arm, he reached out and slid his hand against Janine's own face, feeling her warmth and her soft skin. This touch made him feel love for her and feel loved _by_ her_. _

Kissing her made him feel alive.

Their embrace ended too soon, it seemed. As they pulled away Egon smiled warmly, gazing into Janine's eyes. "I'll be back, I promise," he said. "Remember how I came back after the battle with Gozer. Look, I even kept your lucky coin."

Egon reached into his pants pocket and withdrew the coin. It was from the World's Fair in Flushing Meadows, 1964. Janine had given it to him just before the battle, insisting it was for luck. He had told her that he shouldn't take it - after all, what if they didn't come back? Yet they had (thankfully) and now here he was.

"Oh, Egon," Janine said, tears springing to her eyes at the sight of the coin. She had nearly forgotten about it; now all of her feelings from that moment welled inside of her, sorrow and joy mingling, then joy taking over.

Egon, seeing his dear sweetheart become emotional, embraced her tenderly.

"Seems like that luck really paid off after all," he whispered.

* * *

After Janine collected herself, and insisted that Egon still keep her coin with him, Egon decided to tell Ray about the newspaper article first. Of any of his team members Ray was the one who understood him the most, on both a personal and intellectual level, and he felt that he could trust Ray in a way one trusted family. Too bad Ray wasn't his brother instead of Elon. Egon could relate to his colleague more than he ever could with his twin.

Elon was like his alter ego, or his id, to put it in psychological terms. Everything that Egon was, Elon was the opposite. If Egon was reserved and detached, Elon would be outgoing and animated. If Egon was serious, Elon would be obnoxiously silly. That had always driven Egon, his sisters, and his parents crazy, how different he and Elon were.

Biding Janine goodbye, and politely refusing her offer to help him walk, Egon pushed away thoughts of his twin, instead focusing on Ray and the article which he wanted to show him. The newspaper it which it was contained was tucked and folded safely in the pocket of his light blue lab coat.

Egon swung his way to the back offices beyond Peter's desk on the left side, seeking his colleague. He went to the second door on the left, with the plaque card DR. RAY STANTZ hanging upon it, and knocked firmly.

"Ray," Egon called, when he received no answer from within and no greeting at the door. "I need to talk to you."

Still no reply. Sighing, Egon pushed the door open and stepped inside. At the small desk in the upper left-hand corner of the room sat Ray, hunched over a notepad. The desk was situated in way that Egon could see his face. Ray was intense, and totally absorbed in his work. With his reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose, and his hair standing in a wild mess about his head, Egon knew Ray was wrestling with a difficult problem, a problem he would be determined to fix until his dying breath, if necessary.

Maneuvering over to where Ray sat, Egon took the newspaper out of his coat pocket, and tapped his colleague on the head with it to get his attention. Startled, Ray jumped and almost whirled out of his seat. He relaxed as he realized it was only Egon, however.

"Oh, hey Spengler," Ray said, clearing his throat. (He felt a bit embarrassed for being so startled). "What brings you here?"

In response Egon unfolded the newspaper in his hand and plopped it down on Ray's desk. "Read this," he said, pointing to the article which had perked his interest.

Ray pushed his glasses higher up his nose, then lifted the paper up closer to his face in order to read it. The effect was obvious. When he looked up again, Ray had a huge, excited grin on his face.

"We gotta check this out ASAP!" he said eagerly. "Man, whatever this Demon is, it sounds spooky and unusual."

Egon nodded. "Let's go tell Peter and Winston," he said, heading for the door. Grabbing a coat from the back of his chair, Ray quickly followed.

"I'm just curious, Ray," Egon said, as they made their way out of the office area. "What were you working on back there?"

Ray waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, just a theory about the effects of human emotions. No big deal. I'll show it to you after we hit the Museum if you want. I think it could be an interesting topic to expand on."

Egon gave a small smile. "I can't wait to hear it."

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry for the wait! Hope you liked this next chapter. :)**


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

After informing Peter and Winston of the situation at the museum, the guys swiftly got down to business. Ray suggested that they go in casual clothes, seeing as their priority at the moment was to investigate, not track down and capture a ghost. Until they were certain what they were dealing with, this seemed the most rational option to everyone.

Of any of them, Egon was most thankful that he didn't have to struggle into his Ghostbusting overalls - while it was comfortable, his healing ankle made it very painful to try and put it on. So he was content with what he already wore: dark trousers, gray sweater vest, red tie, and a dark brown trench coat instead of the blue lab coat, which he had shrugged off earlier. Along with his crutches and PKE meter, he was prepared for (almost) anything.

Meanwhile, Ray and Winston double-checked the ghost traps, while they and Egon waited for Peter to finish changing. The closing fault really was a problem, and even if they weren't going to the museum to catch any ghosts just yet, it was an important concern to keep in mind. Besides, if the ghost they were seeking - the "Demon" - decided not to lay low during their visit, they needed to be prepared. Which was why they were also bringing along the proton packs.

"Seems fine now," Ray commented, as he tapped experimentally against one of the traps. "I tweaked a few things earlier this morning, and I think I got most if not everything straightened out with them."

"I don't like being uncertain with these things," Egon said, giving his colleague a serious look. "But at the moment, we really have no choice. The situation we're facing could only worsen if we delay any longer."

Ray nodded, returning the firm, equally serious stare.

Just then Peter reentered the lobby, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, floral necklace, sandals, and a pair of sweatpants that were a hideous shade of blue. As he walked up to the group he lowered his head, peering at them all over the top of his sunglasses.

The others groaned. Peter simply smiled.

"Ayyy," he said in a low, tough voice that sounded a lot like the Fonz. "How's it goin', nerds?"

It was so quiet, one could hear a cricket chirping.

"When I said casual, Venkman, I didn't mean like. . .like_ this_," Ray eventually replied, gesturing to Peter's whole body.

"Hey, I'm the king of casual!" Peter argued lightly. "I'm Mr. Cool, Mr. Slick. . ."

"Mr. Pain-In-Our-Ass is more like it," Winston mumbled.

He, Ray, and Egon burst out laughing. Peter, his ego hurt a bit, adopted a pout face.

"Says you," Peter countered childishly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Says everyone," Egon retorted, rubbing it in even further. "Now get serious, Peter. We have work to do."

"Ugh, fine." Peter unfolded his arms and made for the Ecto-1, which sat a ways off from the group, like a silent sentinel of the Firehouse. "But I'm not changing these clothes!" the mouthy Ghostbuster threw over his shoulder.

"No, of course you're not," Ray murmured so only Winston and Egon could hear, rolling his eyes. "What a little brat. Seriously, it feels like we're looking after a child instead of one of the best parapsychologists in the field."

"You give him way too much credit," Winston said. "If anyone's the best, it's Egon here." He patted Egon on the shoulder with a smile. "Wherever we're in a jam, you're always there to fix it. You're also smart, witty, and know how to put people like Peter in his place."

"Now you're giving _me _too much credit," Egon said, voice cracking, face blushing with embarrassment. He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose before going on. "Honestly, Winston. I'm not that great. I mess up, I get distracted. I'm not perfect."

"No one expects you to be perfect, Spengler," Ray said. He was sensing something in his friend, but he couldn't figure out what it was. There was a glimmer of shame and hopelessness in Egon's eyes, of that he thought he saw, as well as. . .what? Fear? Anxiety? Panic? Ray wasn't sure, but he had the feeling that Winston had just touched upon a sensitive subject. And that Egon was uncomfortable about it.

"The truth is, you're not perfect," Ray went on. "Nobody on this whole planet is. If we were perfect, do you think we'd be facing the problems we are now? War, destruction, famine, violence. . .all of those things are caused by imperfect people, who have imperfect ideas and morals. But many tried and are still trying their best to do what's right, those who know they are not perfect and want to help others. And 9 times out of 10, that fact of trying is enough. So don't let yourself down, okay? Because whether or not you see it, me, Winston, and even Peter know that you're great. Maybe one day real soon you'll realize that, and be comforted by the fact that your greatness and imperfection is a source of light and hope for others."

A warm glow touched Egon's eyes. It looked as though he were about to cry. Then a cold mask seemed to come down over his features, hiding his true feelings inside.

"Moving words, Raymond," he said, though he was strangely detached now, and did not seem at all moved. "But we'd better get over to the Museum now."

And with a finality of his stone-cold gaze, Egon turned and swung his way over to the Ecto-1, leaving Ray and Winston to stare after him with a mixture of bewilderment, and genuine concern.

* * *

Janine had been worried about whether or not Egon should join the others in the investigation. She knew that they would be not be catching any paranormal entities unless one happened to come out and threaten them directly - but that didn't mean she still wasn't anxious. As they had been getting ready she had all but begged Egon to stay at the Firehouse and wait for the others. She argued that he wasn't in the best physical condition, and that some more rest would be better for his weary limbs.

Egon had politely refused this, saying that during their outing he was simply going to observe and record data with the PKE meter, and that it was important in discovering what had happened to the Museum workers. After attempting to persuade him with any other excuse she could think of, Janine had given up. Her parting farewell as he and the team had climbed into the Ecto-1 had included a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a piece of advice regarding his ankle: watch out for potholes. . .because who knew? There was a possibility he could fall into one and not be able to pull himself out. In the meantime, Janine herself would wait for their safe return.

Now, as Ray swerved through the less crowded back streets of New York City, Egon couldn't help but smile. He never thought he would be able to feel this - feel love for a woman. He had slowly been breaking down his mental fortress over the years, but now. . .now it had been all but obliterated, as if some mental army of his had went it and blown it up with dynamite. Not that he minded really. He'd hated his "mind palace," as his father had often called it.

Prison was a more accurate term, because it had trapped Egon for most of his life. He would've become completely like his father if it had not been for his love of parapsychology, and his desire to be different from many of his family members, who were either scientists, doctors, or regular psychologists. His siblings had chosen slightly different professions.

His sister Evona was a researcher and astronomer for NASA (their father had disapproved of her occupation choice as well, insisting Evona believed in aliens and UFOs and such). Egon's other sister Ebony was a doctor (he had always thought Ebony to be strange, and not because she was adopted; it was because Egon had had a terrifying experience at a hospital and had developed a strong phobia of such places and people ever since). Finally his twin brother Elon was an environmentalist.

His family aside, Egon was feeling great. He was finally free of his father's influence, he was in love with Janine, and he had friends who cared about him as a person. And other than Elon sending him an "early birthday present," (the contents of which he had run multiple toxicology tests on, to frustratingly no avail) Egon felt this day was going by beautifully. Just as long as their visit to the Museum didn't entail actually capturing a spirit, he knew the day would be even more fantastic.

Besides, he had promised to go out to dinner with Janine after they returned. It certainly wouldn't look good if Egon came back covered in ectoplasm. Hence he would not get involved - in the busting aspect at least.

And in no time at all it seemed, Ray turned into the Museum parking lot, the mighty and mysterious edifice itself looming above them in all its marbled magnificence. A large banner strung between two of the massive pillars announced an upcoming exhibit called "_The Secrets of Ancient Egypt," _with the name of the museum printed under it.

"This looks like the place," Ray said, peering out of the windshield as they slowly drove through the lot.

The rest of the guys looked through the car windows as they rolled past. The Museum was mostly white colored marble with flecks of black - and seemed structurally sound, as far as Egon could tell from a distance. It reminded him also of Columbia University's Library, which made him wonder if the Museum was as grand on the inside as it was outside.

_We'll soon find out, _he thought, as the Ecto-1 rolled neatly into a handicapped space.

"Yo, Ray!" Peter called, climbing out quickly. "This is a zone for elderly people with walkers and wheelchairs! Why are did ya' park here? Do you really not like elderly people and wanna give 'em a hard time, huh?"

"Handicapped spaces aren't just for "elderly" people, Peter," Winston said, as he helped Egon down from the back. "As it happens, we have an injured man to think about and take care of. Or did you not notice the crutches and cast he's been forced to have for nearly a month?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Like hell I noticed," he mumbled. "Jeez, you people need to relax. Seriously. I can't say one joke anymore without you all getting up on my back about it."

"It's because you're an ass, Venkman," Ray replied plainly. "And frankly, we all think it's best if you keep your mouth shut when and if at all possible."

Nothing else needed to be said - Peter was floored.

As they headed off towards the Museum, Egon gave his colleague Ray a sideways smirk.

"What?" Ray said, noticing the look.

"Nicely handled, Dr. Stantz," Egon said, giving him a slightly awkward bump on the arm while trying to hang onto his crutch for support.

Ray smiled. "Thanks, Spengler. _Doctor _Spengler, I should say," he added with a laugh.

Egon managed a chuckle, and gripped the PKE meter that was in his hand even more tightly. He wondered what results this visit to the Museum would yield - if these strange disappearances had really been the work of a spirit, or if another solution was possible. Either way, he hoped that - if there _was _a ghost of some kind lurking within the Museum walls - that it would lay low for them, the intruders seeking it out.

And if it didn't lay low, and decided to attack, Egon's only wish was that it would get Peter first.

* * *

When the Ghostbusters walked into the Museum, they were greeted almost instantly by a round, nervous looking man in a suit that did not hide or tone down his obvious obesity. Half-moon spectacles were perked on the edge of the man's nose, and upon seeing the Ghostbusters he waddled over, the glasses threatening to topple from his face.

"Oh, oh my!" the man squeaked in a British accent, promptly shaking each of their hands. He was very sweaty, which showed in the disgusting amount of the stuff which rubbed off on each of the team member's palms.

"You. . .you must be the Ghostbusters!" the man exclaimed. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands now, for they fidgeted agitatedly in front of him. "I recognize you lot from the telly. Dr. Venkman, I think - " The man turned to Peter, who nodded with a smug smile. " - Ray Stands - " Now to Ray, who cleared his throat.

"It's _Stantz, _actually," Ray corrected.

"Oh, f-forgive me, dear chap," the man seemed genuinely apologetic for the mistake. He then turned to Winston. "Um, let me see. . .Zeddemore, right?"

Winston nodded. "Yes, sir. Winston Zeddemore."

The man nodded in satisfaction, clearly happy that he had not made another error. Finally he turned his plump self towards Egon, who nodded his head slightly with acknowledgment.

"And how could I forget?" the man said, his polite smile turning into a full-out grin. "Dr. Egon Spengler! I've heard a lot about you, Dr. Spengler. Your attempt of self-harm by trepanation was very interesting, I must say. You know, I actually did some research on that and found it to be q-quite fascinating! I didn't realize drilling a hole through one's skull is said to make you smarter!"

Egon was caught off guard by the man's zeal, and by his knowledge of his personal past. No one was supposed to know about that incident except Peter and Ray. It had been a stupid stunt he had pulled back at Columbia. He had been researching dolphins and of course, trepanning. He had theorized that dolphins were more intelligent because of their blowholes, and while looking up information about trepanning, had realized that such practices of making a hole in human heads had been tried for various reasons. From that information, Egon had gathered that doing this could possibly give an individual more intelligence.

Of course, Egon had wanted to test this himself. If Peter and Ray hadn't come into his dorm room one night, a drill running in his hand as he leaned over his desk, Egon would have succeeded in testing his theory. Looking back, he realized what he had been about to do was ridiculous and dangerous, and that he would've died had his colleagues not been there for him.

After talking him out of it, Egon had promised Ray and Peter never to tell anyone about the incident. Since then they had not spoken of it all. But now. . .this man, whom they all had never met, somehow knew about Egon's past?

"I've never told anyone of that, except for my close colleagues," Egon replied, studying the man with a closer eye. "How is it that _you _know?"

The man fiddled with his hands again, uncomfortable with the obvious questions. "I. . .I used to be a staff member at Columbia University," he explained anxiously. "Not for very long, mind you. A week or two at most. B-But I heard rumors and such from the other students and staff. . .gossip, really. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Dr. Spengler. My sincere apologies."

Egon nodded, but he was not entirely convinced by the man's flimsy cover-story. "I don't think we caught your name," he said, diverting the subject to other matters for the time being.

"Charles Moriarty," the man answered, straightening himself out a little. "C-Curator of this fine Museum."

Peter reached out to shake Moriarty's hand again, then thought better of it. Then, slapping a hand onto his shoulder, he said in an almost psychiatrist-like tone, "So, Charlie, what seems to be your problem?"

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry for not updating in awhile! Here's the next chapter. :) **

**The one after this shall start to get into more of the action, so stay tuned for more (hopefully soon)! **


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

"My problem - or, rather, the Museum's problem - is quite simple gentlemen," Moriarty began. "You all have no doubt read the news article in the _Times _describing the. . .the Demon? As well as the s-sudden disappearances?"

The team nodded, some more excitedly than others. Among this less excited party was Egon, who was still trying to unravel exactly how Moriarty came to know something about him that he shouldn't know at all. As the man beckoned for them to follow him, Egon reached out and grabbed Peter's sleeve, pulling him backwards. Moriarty, Ray and Winston kept walking, the other two Ghostbusters so wrapped up in their curiosity that they didn't notice Egon and Peter being left behind.

"What's up, Spengs?" Peter asked, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. "What are we hanging back for?"

Egon fixed him with a glare, his grip on Peter's sleeve tightening rather then relaxing. "You know why," he rumbled.

Peter's eyes widened, and his brows slanted upwards with confusion. "Uh, no, I don't, Egon," he replied. "Seriously, what's this about? Are you mad at me or something?"

"Yes, I'm mad," Egon said through gritted teeth. He was trying to stay calm and not let his anger get the best of him, which was starting to fail miserably. "Did you tell that curator Moriarty about my failed experiment back at Columbia?"

"What experiment?" Peter began to protest, until realization suddenly dawned on his face. "Oh. You mean that one experiment where you almost drilled a hole into your head?"

A curt nod from Egon was all the mouthy Ghostbuster received in confirmation.

"Hey, wait a minute," Peter objected, his temper flaring up instantly. "I didn't tell that dude anything, Spengler! I've never even seen him before until today! Besides, why would I tell a complete stranger about a crazy stunt you almost pulled off back in college? I may be a slimy, sarcastic, and inconsiderate guy, but I have standards where my friendships are concerned. You told Ray and I to keep that little mess under wraps, so we did. Neither of us have spilled the beans. At least, I haven't. I'm pretty certain Ray hasn't, either. Sure, a few rumors may have been spread here and there about your stupidity, but as far as I know it was never mentioned outright by anybody."

"But. . .but then. . ." Egon groped for something, _anything_ that might explain what had happened. "How did the curator know about the incident in the first place?" he finally asked. "Did he really work at Columbia when we attended there as students?"

Peter shook his head slowly, his gaze traveling over to where Moriarty was chatting animatedly with Ray and Winston. The three of them were standing several feet away at this point, and seemed unaware that two of their number were still situated by the entrance.

"I'd remember a big tub of British whale blubber like that, for sure," Peter said, his gaze hard and calculating. "So no, I think he's lying. I don't know why, or how he knows about that incident, but I say it's suspicious. We should keep an eye on him."

Egon nodded, swallowing back the uncomfortable lump that had formed in his throat. "Yeah, right," he said. "I'd remember someone like him, too. It's just. . .him mentioning that really startled me. I wanted to make sure neither you or Ray had told him anything. It's silly, I know. You're both my best friends, and you've always kept a secret when the need for one has arisen, but. . .I just didn't know if one of you had told him anything, to betray my trust, or get revenge on me for a grudge, or. . .something."

Peter laughed, though it wasn't a mean sound. "Egon, Egon, Egon," he tutted. "We would _never_ betray your trust, or get revenge on you unless you honestly deserved it, which you don't. So c'mon, lighten up, pal. I _can_ be a jerk, but that doesn't mean I can't be a good friend, too. We'll get to the bottom of this walrus's schemes. For now, let's focus on what we came here to do. . .bust ghosts, kick ass, and maybe meet a beautiful woman or two. Though not necessarily in that order."

_If there even_ is_ a ghost,_ Egon thought, while also rolling his eyes at Peter's last remark about the women. It was just then that Moriarty's gaze wondered over to them and, seeing that he and Peter were still by the entrance, frantically waved them over.

"Gentlemen, please, join us!" the curator called out. "I have some very important information which I think you should hear!"

Peter and Egon exchanged a look. To an outsider, one might have thought that look to be one almost of dread, or determination, or perhaps both. Then Peter fixed a smile onto his face, Egon turned his mouth down into its customarily annoyed scowl, and together the two of them headed towards the waiting group.

* * *

Even with his crutches, Egon was able to keep up with Peter's long strides. There was a certain determination showing from the two men now, as if nothing the curator said would faze them, as if they were waiting to call out the strange Museum owner or prove that he was a spy of some sort, working on a secret agenda. The man had already let slip something, perhaps to distract the team from their task. But what motive did Moriarty have? Was he really a spy, or was he something more sinister, trying to do more than just distract the Ghostbusters?

Neither Egon nor Peter knew what Moriarty's true aims were, but they were convinced that he was trying to get under their skin in some way, find what made them tick.

_We're watching you, _Egon thought, gazing at Moriarty with eyes gleaming with suspicion even as he simultaneously offered him a kind smile. _We'll figure out what you're up to and put an end to it. _

"So, what's the low down, C-man?" Peter asked, striking a relaxed yet subtly threatening, gangster-esque pose.

Moriarty blinked at Peter, obviously confounded by his nonchalant, unprofessional attitude. The curator seemed to compose himself after a moment, however, and with a nervous rubbing of his sweating hands, began to explain.

"You see, this museum has had a long history of s-supernatural occurrences. It was first built in the early 1800s by Jethro Starcross, who was a well-known sc-scholar, actor, and architect. The m-museum has since been remodeled, as the older structure has mostly fallen apart over t-t-time. There is actually a large theater below us that used to draw in m-many crowds, with Jethro Starcross himself starring in many of the plays and musicals. A-Anyway, after a series of unexplained earthquakes, the theater was forced to cl-close, seeing as it had partially sunk into the very ground itself. This resulted in many complications, such as flooding. That was when Jethro and his son, Adrian, decided to built this museum over top of the theater. The t-two of them, along with their mother Anastasia, often traveled to d-different countries, and as a result they usually brought back rare and f-fascinating artifacts. I'm proud to say that some of those artifacts are still here in this museum even to this day!

"Now, I c-come to the rather gruesome and tragic part of this tale. Adrian was the one who often acted as the t-tour guide for his and his family's museum. In between traveling to Mexico and Brazil and even Africa, Adrian was forced to handle many other affairs in regard to running the museum. Well, when his father Jethro came back from a solo journey to Egypt, he b-brought back an ancient tome inscribed with the Latin words _Libro infernum discipuli,_ which translates as "The Book of Hell's Disciples." Jethro was r-rather interested in the world of superstitions and spirits, and so had taken the book from the tomb of a dead ph-pharaoh or sorcerer of some sort, in the hope of learning new information of the supernatural world."

Moriarty paused for a moment to pull out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wipe his glistening face. Thus accomplished, he folded the handkerchief and stuffed in back into his pause. He then licked his lips, his eyes darting thoughtfully up to the ceiling as he tried to regain his thoughts. A look of remembrance passed over his face, and with a smile at the Ghostbusters he continued his story.

"Adrian and Anastasia were not pleased with Jethro's sudden interest in the b-book, as they believed it was beginning to have a wicked influence over him. Jethro repeatedly had outbursts where he would smash various artifacts around the museum, or t-terrorize and frighten museum goers, only to return his senses without a clue as to what he had just done. Sometimes at night he would go out and return in a daze, not remembering where he had g-gone or what strange, evil deeds he had accomplished in his possessed state.

"Well, Adrian was worried for his father, and was determined to destroy the hellish book which seemed to have taken over Jethro. So one night, when Jethro had fell asleep in his office, Adrian s-sneaked in and stole the book from his father's safe. He made for the nearby forest - which is g-gone now, I might add - and started gathering wood for a fire. Once he had succeeded in m-making this fire, he threw the book on top and watched as it slowly started to burn. Well, th-that was when a sudden wind picked up, and an unnatural storm began to amass over the patch of f-forest where Adrian stood. As Adrian refocused his attention upon the fire, he saw what appeared to be a spirit rise from the ashes which flew upwards from the burning book. It had long, black horns and blood-red skin pulled tightly over a muscled body, with eyes that were completely white save for a thin outline of an iris upon each eye, along with a disturbingly small mark of its pupil that gave it a look of pure malevolence.

_'"I am the Demon which resides within this book of Hell's teachings,"' _the creature hissed, the wind seeming to increase with its every syllable. "_What is your purpose in burning that which is holy to all servants of Satan?" _

'"My f-father has been ill," Adrian answered, with some degree of fear in his voice as he addressed the grotesque apparition. "He d-discovered this wicked book and has since fallen under some sort of spell because of it. I-I wished to rid him of this book's sinful influence. I did not realize that there was a real, living manifestation of Hell living within its pages."

"The creature smiled at Adrian in such an unsettling way that the young man stepped back in terror.

_'"Indeed, your father is very much ill, and soon he will be one with Hell," _the Demon laughed. _"There is nothing you can do, Adrian. Your father is already too far gone to save. Hell has done its work." _

"Adrian, enraged, lunged for the Demon, and a brief, violent struggled followed. It is not clear exactly what transpired, but what _is_ known is that the D-Demon and Adrian settled on a deal, and once the deal was made Adrian's f-father was released from his apparent possession by the Demon. Adrian himself disappeared for many months afterwards, and Jethro and Anastasia feared s-someone had killed their son, or perhaps that he had killed himself because of not being able to help his father when he was p-possessed by the book. Jethro had forgotten about the book, however, his sole focus becoming to find his son. Everyone thought he had gone crazy. . .until the hauntings started.

"It was two years now that Adrian had been gone. Small but tragic circumstances had been cropping all over the c-country - whole villages being slaughtered for no apparent reason, livestock stolen, only for their innards to be found sc-scattered across the countryside. Well, anyway, Jethro was down in the partially sunken theater, attempting to clean the place of cobwebs. At one point, as he was cleaning and reminiscing about various things, he suddenly turned and saw his son Adrian, standing on the theater stage. Jethro stumbled backward and fell, shocked.

"It was obvious, however, that Adrian was not the man he had once been. A reddish, ethereal glow surrounded his form, and he seemed corporeal, not like a normal spirit. His normally radiant blue eyes were that of the Demon's - blinding white, with twin, black pinprick pupils glaring through. It was apparent to Jethro that some horrible monster had possessed his son, and he was utterly horrified. He tried to escape, but the possessed Adrian stopped all attempts by absorbing his father's essence. From then on Adrian - or rather, the Demon - continued to kill isolated victims, by either absorbing them or l-leaving them so broken and insane from their encounter that they had to be pl-placed in asylums. Other times the Demon would create little disturbances, like throwing books or sc-screaming or roaming in the basement corridors at night. For whatever reason, the Demon h-hung around the museum, and I whole-heartedly know he - _it_ \- still is.

"None of my colleagues believe me, n-nor will they admit to having heard the Demon itself when I know they truly have. They are scared, gentlemen. I can't blame them. After the latest incident I'm surprised no one has spoken out. I put that advertisement in the paper. Well, a police officer friend of mine did, and rather insulted my claims. He's a nice man, b-but he doesn't believe in demons and ghosts. Still, I didn't want to draw too much attention to the latest incident. After all, who's going to believe something that has become a local legend of sorts? That is why I made my plea for help, as it is, in a discreet manner which I knew one of you would no doubt catch. S-So I am asking you, Ghostbusters, please. Help me. Help this museum. Capture this Demon, and p-perhaps I, as well my colleagues and even Adrian and his family, can know some peace."

No one spoke for a moment, still trying to process the story Moriarty had just finished telling them. Then, quietly, Egon gathered up his nerves to ask, "What happened to the book, Mr. Moriarty? The one Adrian Starcross attempted to burn?"

"Ah, yes," Moriarty said. "I had forgotten. It is said that the book, after the deal with the Demon and Adrian that seemed to entail the possession of the young man, the book was mysteriously restored, with no indication that it had even been burned at all. From what I remember, the book was left there on the glowing embers of the fire. Someone later discovered it while walking in the forest, and returned it to the museum sometime in the 1950s. And it is still here."

As Moriarty said this he turned and began walking towards a glass display case. The team followed close behind. All of them stopped before the case, which held a large, volume bound by leather, with aged, yellow pages that held archaic text and strange pictures and diagrams.

"There it is, gentlemen," Moriarty whispered, almost with horror. "The Book of Hell's Disciples. The book which turned Adrian Starcross into a monster."

The Ghostbusters all stared the ancient book, a collective chill running down each of their spines. What strange, evil spells or rituals did this book hold? What wicked deeds had been performed under the guidance of this unholy tome? None of them knew or even wanted to learn just what kind of malevolence it had wrought on the world. From what they had been told already, it had significantly altered the life of the Starcross family. How many more families or individuals had been touched by the pure corruption of Hell's book? How many lives had been ruined or twisted because of this Demon?

"It said in the newspaper that someone survived the latest Demon attack," Ray eventually said, swallowing hard. "Dennis Payne, I think it was. What's happened to him? Where is he?"

"Shipped off to the asylum," Moriarty answered sadly. "As I said, the Demon sometimes absorbed his victims, but left at least o-one or two victims behind who had been driven insane. I don't know the reasoning behind the Demon d-doing this, but there it is."

"Maybe we could talk to Mr. Payne, try to make him reach out and tell us what he knows, if anything," Ray said, stroking his chin. He was thinking aloud more than anything, and Egon appreciated that his friend was trying to sort this out logically. He also appreciated Peter not making a smart remark.

"Yeah, but the information we'd get would probably be a lot of gibberish, considering this Dennis is apparently a schizo now," Peter said, crossing his arms.

Well, it seemed Egon had jumped a little too quickly to hopeful conclusions.

"Would you like us to look around now, Mr. Moriarty?" Egon piped up. He gripped the PKE meter in his hand a little more tightly, eager to find traces of the Demon.

"If you wouldn't mind," Moriarty said, almost apologetically. "I-I don't mean to put you in danger, but. . .I'm just so overwhelmed by what's happened. It would put my mind at ease if professionals such as yourselves tried to c-capture or at least find traces of the Demon. At least it would confirm that I'm not crazy."

"Don't worry," Winston assured him. "You're not crazy. Our motto at Ghostbusters is that we're ready to believe you. And trust me, Mr. Moriarty, we believe."

Moriarty smiled shakily. "Thank you, Mr. Zeddemore," he said. "It's wonderful to know I am finally being treated like a normal, worried person."

Winston smiled back. "Not a problem." Then, turning to the others, he said, "Let's get to work, guys."

So, without another word, he, Ray, Egon, and Peter split off, and began their investigation of the museum with its rather tragic resident of the supernatural world.

**Author's Note:**

**Again, sorry for the really late update! I just finished a long story for another fandom and have been working to update other stories such as this one! Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait somewhat. **

**I really liked writing the story behind the Demon coming about. And it's only the beginning of that story! Trust me, it will have a lot more twists and turns as "The Demon and Dr. Spengler" progresses. :)**

**Well, anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Til next time! Now that I finished that other fandom story I mentioned, I will working more on writing this one, which means faster updates! Yay! **


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Egon decided to further study the ancient tome of Hell, for a number of definite and clear reasons. One: his crutches prevented him from walking around easily, hence he could not get swiftly from place to place. Hence he also felt he should stick to an area which was close by, in order to not put extra stress on his body.

Reason two: he wanted to see if the PKE would pick up any emissions, faint or otherwise, from the book. If it had once held the likes of a demon, or some such creature, then there _had_ to _some_ lingering imprint of it which he could record and study.

And the third reason?

He wanted to examine the Book because was fiercely _curious_ about the secrets it held. Moriarty's story had, at times, been vague. . .almost intentionally. What had truly happened to Jethro Starcross? How had Adrian been able to so easily procure the book from his supposedly possessed father, and why had the book not burned when he had thrown it on the fire? How also had the Book of Hell not been discovered again until the 1950s, so many years after this Demon seemed to have disappeared with Adrian as its host? And how was this book in any way from Egypt? The markings were obviously Latin, not Egyptian. If it were truly an artifact brought from a trip to Egypt made by Jethro Starcross, then the symbols upon the book would clearly be hieroglyphics, or some form of Arabic symbols, depending on the time period. But the symbols on the cover were neither of these things.

Plus, the pages of the book were not papyrus, from what he could tell (the book was closed, with its cover mainly visible as the tome sat in an ornate book-holder, which kept it upright). Papyrus had once been a heavily used medium in ancient Egypt. Also, the cover was leather - another inconsistency, given that Egypt's hot climate was not ideal for such material. The only kind of leather they had used was for the occasional scroll, and to Egon's knowledge, leather had not been widely used at all until the seventh century. He had no idea how old this book was, but going by what he had learned from Moriarty, he felt that this book was another example of the curator's mistaken and questionable knowledge.

This and many other facts made Egon doubt the reliability of Moriarty's story as a whole. He was beginning to realize more fully that the museum curator could not be trusted. First the mention of the head-drilling incident. . .now a strange supernatural story that was seeming more and more incomprehensible by the second. What else could Egon believe than that Moriarty was a lying, scheming troublemaker, trying to lead him and the rest of the team down some wrong path?

So Egon turned on the PKE meter and began waving it over the case in which the _Book of Hell's Disciples_ was contained, hoping that perhaps he would discover some new piece of information which could shed light on what was really going, and what had already happened. He thirsted for the truth behind this whole matter, and nothing would be gained, in his opinion, by putting ignornant trust into a strange and suspicious man who knew too little _and_ too much, depending on the situation.

"I say, how's your l-leg, my dear chap?" the voice of Moriarty piped up. Egon resisted the urge to cringe, and forced himself to turn and face the curator. The chubby fellow was standing beside him with a strange smile on his face - though Egon couldn't tell what exactly this smile meant, and if the meaning was good or bad.

"It's fine, sir," Egon replied matter-of-factly, lowering the PKE and turning it off. For some reason he felt that he needed to be discreet about this investigation of the Demon, at least with Moriarty present. He honestly did not like the curator, and didn't know what ulterior motives he had; so he would keep his guard up at all times around this shady character, until he was certain what he was up to.

"Good, good," Moriarty said, rubbing his hands together. "I read about your accident when they reported it all over the p-papers and the telly. I'm sorry you've had to suffer unnecessary pain." The curator cleared his throat, looking down at his feet in embarrassment. "And again, I apologize for making you kind gentlemen look around like this. I-I wouldn't want you to actually come across the Demon whilst you were here just trying to find some clues about its presence. So let me just say that if any of you n-need me, or would like to know more the Museum and its history, feel free to come by my office after your s-search."

Egon nodded. "Alright, then," he said. "Thank you, Mr. Moriarty."

Moriarty smiled again. "Good luck, Dr. Spengler, in all your endeavors," he replied, then added with a wink, "be they work related or otherwise."

With this last uncomfortable comment, Moriarty turned and hurried away - to his office, Egon presumed. Watching the curator for a moment, he then reached up and pushed his glasses back into place, clearing his throat.

Boy, did he wish Peter were here to back him up. He was feeling more and more uncomfortable about this British curator by the second.

_Well, I better keep up with my end of the investigation, _Egon thought with a sigh. Holding up the PKE meter once more, he turned it back on and began waving it over the glass case again. He watched the little arms as they moved up slightly, the lights flashing in a slow rhythm. The PKE also emitted a slow but steady _beep, beep_ sound.

Egon's heart fluttered a little with excitement. So, there _was_ some trace of paranormal energy! This awkward trip hadn't been a waste after all!

Just as Egon was about to move around the case, to see if he would receive a stronger reading, he noticed a strange, faint glow on the cover of the Book - a glow that seemed to be a strange, almost wicked red hue. He narrowed his eyes, trying to bring the strange occurrence into clearer focus. He then huffed, and took a step forward, leaning on his crutches and getting closer to the case, until his nose almost touched the glass.

"What in the name of Einstein," he muttered, raising the PKE slightly. The beeping had increased in rhythm a little, but he was hardly paying attention to it at this point. He was still trying to discern just what was happening with the Book, and if an encounter with something paranormal - be it the Demon or otherwise - was imminent.

But before Egon could determine what was happening with the Book, he felt someone tug on his arm. He turned and saw that it was Ray, red faced and grinning.

"Egon, you've got to check this out!" Ray exclaimed breathlessly.

"What is it?" Egon asked, eyebrows furrowing as he saw the mingled strain and excitement on his friend's face.

"It's incredible!" Ray gasped. "Me, Winston and Peter were looking around - you know, just real calm and unhurried. Well, then you bet it was a surprise when Peter comes running over to us from one of the hallways and says he found a room covered in ectoplasmic residue. It's _insane,_ Spengler!" Ray's eyes practically glowed like stars at this point. "C'mon, let me show you. Peter and Winston went in to look around, but I thought that you'd want to look at it, too. Well, come on!"

Ray then began dragging Egon towards the direction of this very room, until Egon's repeated exclamations of _"Ray, stop!"_ finally made his friend let go of him apologetically.

"I can walk there just fine," Egon assured his friend, chuckling as he struggled to re-position his crutches, which had nearly been left behind him in Ray's haste. Once the crutches were safely secured, he said, "Now, after you, Raymond. Slowly this time."

Ray managed a wavering smile, before beckoning with his arm for Egon to follow him in a more comfortable manner. Swinging his crutches to propel himself forward, Egon slipped the still beeping PKE meter into his brown trench coat, and trailed after his excited and breathless colleague.

Neither man noticed as the _Book of Hell's Disciples_, steadily being enveloped in blood-red light, stopped glowing entirely, and assumed a ordinary, non-ethereal state once more. The Book then seemed to heave a frustrated breath, and let out a low, menacing growl.

It was amost as if the Book was _alive,_ and hiding its true intentions from those not associated with the paranormal world and the people who made their living in it.

Almost as if it were _waiting_ for its chance to strike out at those very people in the most unexpected and painful ways possible. . .

* * *

Ray led Egon down a series of corridors that branched off into several of the larger exhibits of the museum. At last, the two men came to a door on the right side of one of the corridors. There were many other doors along this corridor, as well, close together and evenly spaced apart. But none of these other doors were almost completely covered in slime, as the one in front of them was.

Yes, it was covered in _actual_ slime. _  
_

Ray had certainly not lied about that. Almost all of the door, sans a few places here and there, was coated in the gooey, dripping, slightly horrid smelling stuff. It oozed all across the wooden door and its frame, occasionally bubbling and bursting, sending whiffs of its sickly aroma into the air.

"Ugh," Ray gagged, pulling his white T-shirt up to cover his nose. "It stinks like hell. I don't know how Peter and Winston were brave enough to actually go inside. It's even _worse_ in there."

The door was already slightly jar, so Ray reached out slowly with his pointer finger and, touching the doorknob, which had been spared the bath of nauseating ectoplasm, he pushed forward. The door swung back steadily, revealing the entire expanse of the room.

It was an office - or, at least, it _used_ to be an office. Present were thick layers of dust upon the bookshelves and artifacts, and the whole place was strewn with thick cobwebs that had not been touched in years. If not for the covering of slime that also adorned the entire room, Egon would have figured that this was an office that had been left in peace for quite some time.

"What happened?" Egon asked, as Ray and then himself stepped across the threshold. Not too far away, standing by a desk dripping with clear, almost glowing ectoplasm, Peter and Winston were examining some photos on the wall.

"Well, good of you to join us, Egon," Peter greeted without turning around. "So, what do you think of this place? Funky, huh?"

"That's certainly one way to put it," Egon replied. He withdrew the PKE from his pocket, for it was now beeping in an urgent manner from the immense surge of energy it was no doubt detecting. He took one look at the readings and had to do a double take.

"Um, Ray?" Egon said, giving his colleague an uncertain look. "You should come look at this."

Ray, who was the closest to the brainy Ghostbuster, turned around from his examination of a bookcase and walked over. "What's up, Spengler?"

"I think the PKE meter is malfunctioning," Egon replied. He held out the device to Ray, who peered at its small screen. Instead of the usual display of numbers, there was a string of symbols.

離開這個地方。

"That's Chinese, isn't it?" Ray remarked, after studying the symbols for a long moment in bewilderment. "What does it say?"

_"Líkāi zhège dìfāng," _Egon answered. He then translated this as, "'Leave this place'."

The two men looked at each other, bewildered and slightly horrified. Before either of them could form a response, however, another string of letters suddenly appeared on the PKE screen.

_Skildu þennan stað _

"Icelandic," Egon said. This time he arched a puzzled eyebrow, reminding Ray distinctly of Spock from _Star Trek._ "It's the same message: leave this place."

Even as he spoke, more letters and symbols appeared, this time in rapid succession. The brainy Buster's eyes darted back and forth as he read each message and identified the language.

"French. . .Arabic. . .Hebrew. . .Polish," Egon rattled off, growing more puzzled by the second. "Russian. . .Danish. . .Portuguese. . .Italian. . .Latin. . .what the-? Is that Yiddish?" He turned to Ray, as well as Peter and Winston, who had joined the two of them just moments before to witness this strange occurrence. This time he had both eyebrows raised.

"It's all the same message," Egon told them. "'Leave this place.' It seems to me that this Demon, or whatever other forces at work here, want us to leave them alone."

"Well, that's obvious," Peter said, with a weary eye roll and equally weary tone. "Any spook we run across finds us a threat. It's kind of part of our job, Egon."

Egon was about to reply to that when he looked down and saw one final message flash onto the PKE screen. This time, it was in English.

_Leave this place or join with Hell. _

"Uhhh. . ." Peter's demeanor suddenly became anxious, and he looked nervously between his three colleagues. "That's a joke, right? Someone please tell me this is a joke."

Before anyone could answer, the PKE meter suddenly and unexpectedly exploded in Egon's hand. Shocked (literally) and burnt, Egon dropped the PKE and clutched at his throbbing hand. He and the team all watched as the device then caught on fire, and began to melt onto the carpet of the slimed office. The smell of burning plastic and flesh mingled unpleasantly in the air, making everyone gag.

"Seriously?" Ray managed to sigh, a note of disappointment and frustration in his tone as his eyebrows titled upwards. "I just finished calibrating that PKE meter this morning."

There was a moment of silence following Ray's words, no one uttering a word - though if this was from fear of what would happen next, the guys couldn't be certain. The fact remained, however, that there was indeed some supernatural presence residing within the museum. This presence also seemed to be angry and hostile, which might or might not explain the current state of the PKE meter. The question now was, how would they go about uncovering more information regarding the Demon, if this paranormal presence was in fact that creature? Would the proton packs even work against such a hellish beast? Surely demons weren't the same as ghosts? Surely the packs as well as the ghost traps would prove uneffective in the event of an attack?

"Well, look on the bright side, Ray," Peter eventually said. "At least we have insurance." He was hoping to diffuse the tension a bit, just so long as he didn't get criticized for it. His team mates had been rather intolerant of his immaturity as of late, and it was really starting to hurt his feelings.

But then a sudden and unexpected breeze chilled the room, dissipating Peter's optimistic spirit and turning everyone's soul as cold as ice. A collective shiver passed through the team again. . .until a voice as harsh and spine-tingling as a blizzard beat down on them, intense and abrupt in every way.

_"WHY HAVE YOU DISTURBED ME? LEAVE, LEAVE BEFORE THE SCOURGE OF HELL RISE UP AND CLAIM YOUR SOUL!" _

"I don't know about you fellas'," Winston said shakily, "but I'm gonna listen to this Demon and get out of here while I still have my soul in the its proper place."

"Right behind you," Ray agreed, as Winston turned and promptly hurried out the door. Within a moment Ray was following his colleague, throwing open the door behind him as he went. Now only Peter and Egon remained, the paranormal wind still whirled about the room, the voice continuing its threats in different languages now. The volume of the voice had fallen to a rage-filled rumble, but it was still chilling nonetheless.

"Let's split, Spengs," Peter said close to Egon's ear. "We can come back tomorrow night maybe. Right now I think we need to give our hellish friend some space."

It was just as he said that the wind slowly but surely calmed, and the voice faded into silence. Egon and Peter stood perfectly still, waiting for a sign that things were truly all clear. A slight breeze continued to disturb the loose papers in the room; then, after a long moment, this gentle stirring became non-existent. The peace was so surprising that it seemed unbelievable.

"I think it's gone for now," Egon said, expelling a sigh of relief. He turned to Peter, smiling ruefully. "You're right. We should come back tomorrow. I'm not sure what difference it will make, or if our paranormal Demon will be any less hostile."

Peter nodded, offering his own weary grin. "Ray and Winston ran out of here like a pair of scared chickens, did you notice?" he chuckled.

Egon grinned himself, then burst out laughing. "Yeah, I noticed alright," he said in between laughes. He was tired and strained, he knew, and those two factors were only fueling the fire of his exhausted amusement. It hardly mattered; he and the others had seen some strange things. If they couldn't laugh about it, then what _could_ they do?

"We. . .We should probably go find them," Peter giggled, referring to their team members. "And we should. . .ha, ha. . .probably tell the Blubber Brit about what we've seen and heard."

"Ha. . .right," Egon smiled. "Let's go."

Casting their gazes one last time around the slimed office, the two men turned and headed out the door. Egon came to the doorway, then stopped, remembering the PKE meter. As quickly as he could manage, he went over and scooped up the damaged device. It was still smoking slightly, and was hot to the touch. Sighing with a mixture of frustration and uneasiness, Egon gently slid the PKE into his coat pocket; then he once again made for the open doorway of the office.

This trip had certainly become an interesting one, he decided.

**Author's Note:**

**Here's the next chapter! Now we have a little bit more excitement going on - the guys have gotten some contact from the Demon! Trust me, the Demon will soon become a much more threatening and serious presence. In the meantime, I hope you all enjoyed this new chapter! :)**


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

_It was not pleased. Not in the slightest. It had come close - so, so close - to taking and corrupting one of the strange men. With their equally strange machines, and their knowledge of the world beyond the living, it knew now that getting what it wanted would not be as easy as it had first thought. _

_It had instilled fear in the men; that at least was a step in the right direction. If it understood these strangers correctly, then they would return to the Museum, looking for indications of it and its doings.__ Once they did, it would be ready. It would be waiting._

_It was time to change tactics, however. Instead of being direct and openly threatening, it would make use of subtler, but still deadly, methods in order to gain control. After all, it didn't have forever to wait. If it still could not sway one of them, it would have to extend its influence and work harder to find a foothold, which would use up the strength it so dearly needed._

_In any case, come the end of the fall season, it would begin to die. It needed to have a special kind of sustenance; and if it could not find a new source of energy and fear upon which to feed, it would surely perish. It had fed on others before now, and had even left that creature Dennis Payne with his sanity in tatters But the satisfaction had been a brief pleasure, with the Dennis creature being only an unfortunate survivor. It could only consume so much at once, after all. _

_It had also kept its current host alive for a long time, as well - far too long,__ in fact. This host body was rapidly deteriorating; if it did not act swiftly, it would cease to exist in this world. And if that happened, then all was lost._

_And the Demon knew that it could not stop until its mission had been completed. Until it had enough energy to rise above this puny world of living creatures, and crush them all into the dust from whence they'd come. Its life, and its purpose, depended on these strange men who had just unknowingly become its plans for survival. . ._

* * *

Egon stopped just outside the doorway to the slimed office, tired, uneasy, and in need of his glasses being cleaned. As carefully as he could manage, he used his arms to hold his crutches tightly to his body; then he reached up, pulled his glasses off, and grabbed a portion of his sweater with which to wipe them on.

The task only took a moment, after which he slid his glasses back on and took a deep breath. His nerves were still a little rattled after what had happened in the office, but he knew he would be fine in a few minutes. He humorously remembered how Winston and Ray had made certain to flee from the scene. He also wondered if they were alright - which they probably were, since they had encountered worse as far as actual face-to-face spiritual encounters went. . .Gozer being the best example. This demonic spirit they had encountered today had only been using scare tactics; an effective method, but certainly not the best.

Egon sighed again. He was looking forward to getting back to the Firehouse and seeing Janine. He'd found himself growing closer with her over the past month, and was enjoying every second he spent with her as a freer man, unburdened by a rigid set of social rules. It wasn't completely his fault for initially ignoring Janine's feelings for him. His childhood and early teenage years had been difficult, because for most of that time it was his father who had taught him how to act and think and feel. It was as if Egon had been a computer to his father, with him pressing certain buttons and eliminating or deleting unnecessary information within Egon's system.

But Egon had rebelled against his father. He'd just wanted to be _himself._ He'd wanted to control his own actions and emotions, and be able to think or feel any way he wished. Most of all, he'd wanted to have his own free will. It was the simplest concept in the world, yet many were slaves, without will, and without the strength to fight for it.

That was when Egon had made a decision. He packed his things and stayed with his Uncle Eon for about four years; his father had basically kicked him out, so he had nowhere else to go. After living with his uncle and continuing his studies of the paranormal, he was finally able to find a place to live in New York City. Once there, Egon applied for college at Columbia University, and was swiftly accepted. It was at Columbia that he had met two college freshman - Peter Venkman and Ray Stantz. And of course, the three of them had gone on to investigate the paranormal world together, fighting through the vigorous obstacles of college, becoming parapsychology professors at their alma mater, and in the end becoming close colleagues and friends.

That didn't stop Egon from wishing he was normal, and not. . .well, _weird._ What normal child grew up collecting mushrooms and studying the theories of Einstein and Stephen Hawking as a hobby? What normal child had a father who beat them down and made them feel worthless no matter what they did, made them into some emotionless, detached vessel into which only facts and figures and practical knowledge were hammered into for nearly fifteen years?

What normal child had grown up like Egon Spengler had?

If not for his mother's presence in his life, Egon felt he would not be the man he was today. Because of his mother, part of his sensitive, happy, and emotional nature had survived the incessant onslaught of his father's teachings (and beatings). Somehow, his mother had rescued him _and_ his other siblings from the cruelty and dispassionate influence of their father.

_It doesn't matter anymore, _Egon thought, snapping back to the present time. _I've put my past behind me, for the most part. It's time to stop dwelling on it. I need to forget about what Father did. . .forget about the gifts I got from my stupid twin Elon. I don't need to have any contact with them ever again. They're just a part of my past, and the past should simply be forgotten. All I should remember is Mother, and that's all. I should remember how she saved me. _

Taking a deep breath, Egon started to move away from the office bathed in slime, when he realized that he had forgotten to close the door. He swung around with a weary sigh, and grabbed the doorknob, pulling it forward. It was just as the door made the tell-tale _click _signifying it was closed that a glob of slime oozed off the wooden surface, and struck the back of Egon's hand.

A sharp and burning pain seared through his entire hand, the feeling not unlike touching a live wire. The brainy Ghostbuster let out a gasp, grabbing his afflicted right hand with his left as the former spasmed excruciatingly. Every nerve tingled like flames, and his fingers curled into the shape of a claw, the muscles tightening.

Then, as suddenly as the pain had come upon him, Egon felt the pain fade; slowly, he let his hand relax. He took a shaky breath and looked uneasily at his hand. To his surprise and confusion, there was no indication of slime on his hand, nor any blemish marking its effects upon him.

"I must be tired," Egon mumbled. He was leaning slightly against the wall just outside the office door; now he straightened up again, and readjusted his crutches for what felt like the hundredth time that day. _I need some sleep, _he thought. _That __pain, though. . .it felt so real. Maybe my medication is making me see and feel things that aren't based in reality. Yes, that seems like the most logical conclusion. It's just my medication. _

Even as Egon finally made his way towards the museum exit, he couldn't shake the undeniable feeling of uncertainty and dread from his mind. Something was definitely going on with this museum; he just couldn't figure out what the Demon's motivation was, or what it was fully capable of. And he wasn't certain how sound his heath and sanity was at the moment, either.

Hopefully, he'd find the answers to these problems soon.

* * *

Ray, Winston and Peter were waiting for Egon in the lobby. Ray assured his crippled friend that the three of them had spoke to Moriarty about the office, and had promised to come back tonight or even tomorrow night to continue their investigation. Moriarty had been more than grateful, embracing Ray and the others in sweaty and malodorous hugs and saying how blessed he was to have the Ghostbusters around to help him. It was after this parting sentiment that the three men had returned to the lobby, just a couple moments before Egon had shown up. Now the four men made their way out to the parking lot and towards the Ecto-1, all of them relieved to be going home after a strange and troubling case.

The drive back was pleasant enough. No one really spoke; occasionally Ray tried to make small talk from his position up at the wheel, but other than that none of the other guys ventured to break the weary silence. Even Peter's lack of "witty banter" as he liked to call it was beginning to worry the team to a degree.

When the Firehouse came into view at last, all four Ghostbusters gave a collective sigh of relief. It was already four o'clock in the afternoon, and they were tired. Egon especially felt the need to take a nap before he and Janine did anything together. He wasn't sure what the rest of the team was up for when they got inside; Ray probably wanted to get back to the project he'd been working on earlier today, and Winston no doubt wanted to do some much-needed maintenance on Ecto-1. Its engine had been making some troublesome noises as of late, and Winston - being a fairly skilled mechanic - had seen to checking the vehicle after they drove anywhere. As for Peter, he would probably get up to his usual shenanigans, which included bugging his team members, pestering Janine, and incessantly calling Dana. She had recently rented a room in a new apartment, and ever since Egon had reluctantly helped Peter track her down, he had not stopped with his calls.

Egon had to admit, he felt a little guilty for helping Peter. He didn't really care for his and Dana's relationship, as was evidenced by his frequent jokes about the subject, but that didn't mean he wanted to cause Dana unnecessary grief by supporting his jerky colleague. He just hoped that Peter would let this drop and eventually leave Dana alone.

"Home sweet home!" Ray said from the driver's seat, laughing happily. "Thank God. I'm in need of a good, long rest. What about you guys?"

"Here, here," Peter agreed, while Winston and Egon both said, "Yes."

It was just as Ray pulled the Ecto-1 into the Firehouse that they all realized their plans of respite would be delayed for a time.

Because waiting for them in the reception area was Janine, along with a man who was none other than the annoyingly talkative and nasal-voiced Louis Tully.

"Oh God, no," Peter moaned, staring helplessly at the grinning figure of Louis through the windshield. With his tidy sweep of brown hair, over-sized black-rimmed glasses, and clothes that definitely classified him as a nerdy and socially awkward individual, Louis was not a welcome sight at the moment. "No way is fate that cruel. No effing way."

Oh yes, Egon thought silently. Fate had a sense of humor it seemed, and was indeed very, very cruel.

What else, as the saying went, could possibly go wrong?

**Author's Note:**

**Just a filler chapter this time! I thought it would be good to include someone like Louis, since this story will explore his character a bit more, too. Dana will also appear later. :) **

**I hope this was a nice update; I haven't gotten any feedback lately but I know I still want to post on this story regardless. I am doing it for myself more than anything, because I love Ghostbusters, and in the process I hope everyone else enjoys what I have to add to this fandom as well. For any one still reading, thank you! I hope I can continue to please you all, and if you have any comments don't hesitate to share them! :)**


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Louis rushed forward as soon as the Ecto-1 pulled to a stop inside the Firehouse; a grin still plastered on his face, the nerdy man yanked open the back door of the vehicle and looked around at the obviously annoyed faces of Winston, Peter and Egon.

"Hey, guys," Louis greeted, unsurprisingly oblivious. He was dressed in a light blue sweater vest, white dress shirt, and red tie. He also had on gray pants that were pulled up in the typically nerdy fashion, so that they revealed his sock-covered ankles.

"I hope you don't mind that I stopped by," Louis went on. "Your secretary Janine Melnitz said you were out on a case so I decided to wait here until you came back."

"Well, wasn't that sweet of you to wait?" Peter remarked sarcastically, an irritated grimace on his face.

Louis didn't pick up on Peter's tone, for he went on talking unfazed. "Listen, I know you guys are all probably wiped out from busting ghosts and stuff - and trust me, I know how you feel as far as being tired, because I recently joined a gym. It's great. It's mostly for leisure, you know, but it's also good for health reasons, too. If you guys are interested I can help sign you up. Their hours are from eight to six on weekdays and eight to seven on the weekend. They also offer discounted rates on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and have a great swimming pool. . ."

"Mr. Tully," Egon interrupted, leaning forward to look at Louis from behind Peter. "Is there a point to this conversation? Any logical point at all?"

Louis actually looked a bit embarrassed now. "I just wanted to see how you guys were doing, after that whole mess with Gozer and me and Dana turning big dog things," he mumbled. "Plus, I heard Dr. Spengler was injured and I was worried about him. That's mainly what I came over here for. That, and to give you all an apology."

Winston's eyebrows narrowed in confusion, as Egon and Peter tuned out the ongoing conversation, the latter climbing out and helping the former to do the same thing.

"Egon is fine," Winston assured, as he grabbed one of Egon's crutches that Peter handed to him. "His ankle is healing and he's taking his meds when he needs to. That answers one of your questions. But tell me, why would you want to apologize to us in any way, Mr. Tully?"

"Well, I feel like it's my fault for what happened," Louis explained. He stepped to the right closer to Winston as Peter assisted Egon down out of the Ecto-1. "I mean, I let myself get turned into some monster and almost brought about the end of the world. Any decent guy would say he's sorry after a stunt like that, don't you think? And I've wanted to come here even sooner than I have, but I had to worry about finding a new apartment and a steady means of income." Louis managed a smile now. "It's not easy finding a job when _"got turned into a dog and almost ended the entire world"_ happens to be on your resume."

Winston chuckled, and despite himself Egon smiled, and relieved Winston of the crutch he held. Peter began laughing, too, although it was clear to the other Ghostbusters that he was laughing with sarcasm and annoyance.

"We hope you find a job soon, then," Peter said acidly. "Maybe you could try the pound and see if they need any more hell-hounds around to slobber up their cages. You'd be perfect. Better yet, we could bring Gozer back and have you turned back into her precious, fire-breathing Vinz Clortho."

Louis gaped at Peter in speechless shock; the mouthy Ghostbuster himself offered his most mocking smile and promptly walked away, clearly satisfied that he had insulted the nerdy man.

Still struck speechless by the foul-tempered Ghostbuster's words, Louis turned to Egon and Winston, eyes darting between the two of them as if wondering when they'd say something. After a moment the nerdy visitor recovered his voice.

"Wh-What a jerk," Louis stammered angrily. "I was just trying to make a joke and he unleashed on me like I insulted his mother or something! What's his problem, for goodness sake?"

Just then Ray appeared beside Winston, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Trust me, we've been trying to figure that out ever since we've known him," Ray replied. "Listen, Mr. Tully, don't let it get to ya'. A person can get too torn up over something Peter Venkman has told them. I've seen it before. It's better to just ignore him and not give his ego the satisfaction."

"Or you could make fun of his love-sickness for Dana Barrett like we do," Winston suggested with a smirk. "That usually stops his ego for a bit in its tracks. Sometimes he gets defensive, even dreamy when we mention Dana. It's pretty entertaining to watch."

"I'll remember that next time," Louis promised with a nervous smile. "Thank you guys for being nice. Listen, I gotta' get going now. I have a job interview in fifteen minutes and I need to catch a bus. But in case things don't work out and you need an accountant or something like that around here to manage things, here's my number." He withdrew a slip of rumpled paper from his pants pocket and handed it to Winston. "I'm really good with figures and handling money. I've even helped some of my friends and former clients with their taxes. I could really help you guys if you needed someone. In any case we could keep in touch."

"We will," Ray assured Louis, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder. "Thanks for stopping by and checking up on us, Mr. Tully."

"No problem," Louis replied. "I mean, you guys saved the world. . _.and_ my life. It's the least I can do to try and repay you. Oh, and by the way, you can just me Louis. "Mr. Tully" sounds too formal and whatnot."

"Louis, then. Give us a call anytime," Ray said. "And remember: we're ready to believe you."

"If you have a ghost problem, that is," Winston added as clarification.

"Otherwise we'd be happy to chat about anything," Ray concluded, with an appreciative nod towards Winston.

Louis smiled. "Okay. Goodbye, guys. I'll let you know if my job interview goes alright or not." With a nod and a little awkward wave, Louis turned and departed from the Firehouse.

A moment of silence passed; then Ray, Winston, and Egon started walking towards the reception area and the offices beyond it. After another moment Peter crept into view from the left office hallway, his eyes darting around as if looking for something.

"Is the coast clear?" Peter asked in a hushed voice.

"Yeah, you can crawl out of your cave now," Ray shot back as he rolled his eyes.

Peter heaved a dramatic sigh of relief, and scurried over to his three colleagues and Janine, who had moved forward to stand beside Egon.

"Thank God," Peter breathed. "I thought that snot-nosed moron would _never_ leave. For Christ's sake, Janine, why did you even let him in here?"

"Don't say that," Egon mumbled, his head down slightly as he leaned against his crutches.

Peter turned and looked at Egon, his features blank. "What?" he said.

"Don't say Christ like that, Venkman." Egon looked up at his friend now, his voice and his face rigidly firm.

"Uh, last time I checked, Egon, you're an atheist," Peter countered coldly, "so step off, a'right?"

"Actually, I'm agnostic," Egon corrected with equal frigidness, "which means I'm not opposed to the belief of God, Jesus Christ, or any other religious figure. I simply don't know if there is a supreme power from above, but I'm not against believing there is. In any case, I don't appreciate someone taking a holy name like that in vain. It's simply not respectful."

"Religious views aside, gentlemen," Ray calmly interposed, sensing that a genuine fight could be imminent between his two colleagues and wanting to avoid it for Egon's sake. Shooting a smoldering glare in Peter's direction, Ray went on, "I personally didn't mind Louis's visit. I thought he was very friendly and considerate. I mean, yeah, he talked our ears off a little, but he was still kind to even give a crap about coming here."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Great. You're on the geek's side now." He turned his head and gave Ray a grimace. "And he did more than talk our ears off "a little," Ray. I can feel _blood_ dripping out of my ears! Maybe it's even brain matter!"

It was Janine's turn to glare at Peter now. "That nice man gave a shit enough to come here and show you all respect and kindness," she snapped. "I think it's pretty sad that not even your over-inflated ego could feel some pride about that, Dr. Venkman. I know that everyone else cares. I don't expect you to, really, but still. You've got some nerve."

Peter rolled his eyes again and turned his back on his team. "I don't have time for this," he grumbled. "If any of you need me I'll be signing my resignation, or else punching holes into my office wall to vent my frustration about this bullshit."

No one argued with that; Peter could jump off a cliff in his boxer shorts while riding on a unicycle for all his colleagues cared. The four of them could put up with a lot of things, but Peter's attitude definitely wasn't one of them.

* * *

_Later that evening. . ._

"This is really nice," Janine said, smiling as she sipped on a steaming mug of coffee. "I'm glad we got away from the Firehouse, Egon. It gets so loud and annoying when Venkman's in one of his fits. Otherwise it's perfectly quiet. I get to sit and read magazines and occasionally answer some phone calls. And of course, I get to talk to you, Winston and Ray when you're not out busting ghosts."

Egon offered Janine his own smile, and took a sip of his beverage - also coffee. The two of them were currently sitting at a table at The Odeon restaurant on West Broadway. It was a nice little French-American place with a warm and inviting atmosphere, not too expensive food, and a selection of wines. Of the many places Egon had eaten, he figured this would be the right choice as far as a relaxing and romantic dinner went. And he had not been disappointed. The food had been delicious and their plates had been cleared a little while ago. Now Egon and Janine were just talking over some cups of coffee.

Egon didn't mind this in the slighest. Being here was a thousand times better than being back at Ghostbusters HQ, where Peter was no doubt still punching his office walls and overturning furniture. Or maybe he was even calling Dana and venting all his problems on her. Whatever the case, Egon knew he and the others would have to try and calm their friend down at some point. They _did_ have to sleep, after all; by no means would Peter continue to act like an enraged toddler the whole night.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Egon said. "I think it was good for both of us. This ghost-busting business can really wear on a person's nerves. Especially when the Ghostbusters themselves are high-strung."

"Right." Janine ran a finger around the rim of her mug, her eyes diverted away from Egon for a moment. Then she looked back up, a slightly worried look on her features. "How have _you_ been feeling lately, Egon?"

Egon was caught a little off-guard by the question. With a small shrug, he said, "I don't know. Have I looked as though something were bothering me?"

Janine nodded.

It was Egon's turn to look away now. "Well," he sighed. "I _have_ been thinking a lot about my family again recently. But you already know about that, so I don't want to bore you."

"Is there anything in particular about your family that you've been thinking about?" Janine asked tentatively. She didn't want to push Egon and cause him to get defensive, but she did want to make sure that he was alright. After all, she wanted him to feel that he could talk to her about anything that was bothering him. That was how things were supposed to work in a relationship, after all.

Egon sighed again. "I don't know," he repeated wearily. "I've been thinking about my father a lot, I suppose. I. . .I just can't get over how he treated me. Treated my siblings. Treated my _mother. _It's like a constant nightmare stuck on repeat in my mind. . .it won't go away no matter how hard I try. Why can't I just forget about all of it?" Egon pressed his hands to his forehead, taking a deep breath. "Why won't my memories stay locked behind some mental door and let me live a normal life for once?"

"Everyone is burdened by the past in some way or another," Janine replied softly, reaching out to rub Egon's arm comfortingly. "Don't feel bad about it. We all have different experiences, and depending on those experiences, we decide who we want to be. That doesn't mean we can't change the image we've made for ourselves, or who other people have shaped us to be. Don't feel like the person your father made you into is who _you_ really want to be. There's always room to grow and explore a new side of yourself. So despite what your past might have been like, you don't have to remain one person for the rest of your life. You can _change._ You can _learn._ You can be yourself for who you truly are. And I know you want to change, Egon. That's why I'm here to help you."

Egon found that Janine's hand had wandered to his chin. Gently, those fingers urged him to look up at her; so he obeyed. His eyes locked onto Janine's own, and the unfeeling mask he had been trying to erect to keep his feelings at bay crumbled. He gazed at Janine with uncertainty, and helplessness. He knew he must've looked vulnerable, but he didn't have the strength to hide it anymore.

"Trust me, Egon," Janine pleaded gently. "I want you to be happy. I don't like seeing you so distraught. Isn't happiness and love what every woman wants for their handsome prince?"

"Me, a prince?" Egon couldn't help but smile and laugh at that. "Well, that's more flattering than getting slapped in the face, I suppose."

Janine began to laugh now. "I forgot about that, to be honest," she giggled. "Sorry."

"Not a problem. After all, you were angry at Peter at the time, and I got in the way. Plus, you were armed with a proton pack and ready to do harm if necessary. Considering those circumstances-"

The feeling of Janine's lips on Egon's own silenced the rest of his sentence. He hadn't even realized that their face had been moving together while they spoke; it all just seemed to have happened in the blink of an eye. Now bliss blossomed within Egon's chest, a sigh slipping free from him and breaking the kiss for the moment. He sat back slightly, eyes closed and breath shaky with exhilaration. Then his body made the decision for him to lean forward again and continue the embrace. '

It was a warm, soft kiss, and expressed so much about his and Janine's relationship - delicate and passionate, careful and slow. Their love was like a small sapling, steadily growing to become something more. Egon certainly didn't wish to rush things; and he knew that Janine must've felt the same. They had only been together for a little over a month, after all. While they knew quite a bit about each other already, they weren't prepared to plunge headlong into unknown territory. Only when the time was right would they even consider taking things to the next level. This certainly was new territory in general for Egon, but even he knew that rushing a relationship would only end in disaster. Peter was the perfect example of just how screwed up things could get between a man and a woman.

"It's getting late, Janine," Egon said softly, when they once more broke off the kiss. "Do you want to head back to the Firehouse soon?"

"Do you think Venkman's calmed down yet?" Janine asked. Her eyes were still captured in a twinkling haze of romance; Egon could only assume that he looked the same, for he was still thinking about their kiss and how it made him feel.

In answer to Janine's question, Egon promised mischievously, "If Venkman hasn't calmed down, then I'll personally sedate him and leave him to wake up in Walter Peck's living room."

"Why, that's a fate worse than death!" Janine declared with a delighted laugh. "You wicked Ghostbuster, you!"

Egon smirked, and rolled his eyes playfully. "I try," he said, shrugging.

* * *

_At last! At last there was a sliver of hope that the Demon could cling to! With a sense of deep satisfaction, it watched as the one called Egon Spengler sat with a human female, whom he referred to as "Janine." It was not there physically, of course - it was reaching out with its mind and making use of its powers to view a mental image of where its victim sat, so helpless and unaware. _

_From the Demon's observations so far, the one called Egon seemed the most fragile of the four strange men. On the surface, Egon could be hardened and emotionless, for the most part, when he wasn't openly talking about his obviously scarring experiences. Beneath the surface, further wounds and buried secrets lay hidden, such things that the Demon could gleefully take advantage of, using what powers it still had to slowly corrupt Egon and eventually, take him over. _

_The process would take a little time, of course. It had already infected Egon with a small part of its essence which it had intentionally left behind. Now there would only have to be a little coaxing and persuading on the Demon's part to lure the man back to the Museum at some point, so that it could begin the next process of possessing him. _

_The Demon chuckled. It was amusing how truly unconscious the men were of what was about to happen, despite their knowledge of what they called the "paranormal" world. By the time they discovered the truth of things to come, it would already be too late. _

_Soon, it would have Egon Spengler, and the entire world, under its ultimate control. And once it had ultimate control and acquired enough strength, it would not even need to use the energy of its human host any longer. Soon, it would be strengthened by its own kind - the ones who had sent it from the depths of Hell up into this strange world populated by disgusting mortals. Soon, the demons and monsters of all Hell would claim this universe as their own once again, and no one - not even the heroic "Ghostbusters" - would be able to stop the final end of humanity._

**Author's Note:**

**Well, now the action is beginning to pick up again! Come the next chapter, freaky things will start happening to our favorite brainy Ghostbuster. How will the others react, do you think? Will the gang think Egon is having some sort of mental breakdown? Will Egon pull through and escape the fate the Demon has planned for him? You shall see, dear readers! I shall leave you to speculate the things to come! Your comments on this story are greatly appreciated. :)**

**I hope Louis was relatively in character, by the way! As the story progresses I'd like him to be a bit more like how the actor Rick Moranis (who played Louis in the GB movies) was in "Honey, I Shrunk the Kids" - that is, more knowledgeable about science and a bit more likeable, while still being a nerd. Since Louis's character really wasn't expanded on in a lot of detail, I'd like to take some time in this story and future Ghostbuster stories of mine to let his character be more multi-faceted. I hope this approach will not bother anyone! **

**On another note, I stated that Egon was agnostic for a reason. Not because it has any real influence on the story, but because I read that Harold Ramis was agnostic, and I thought it would be interesting to have Egon be agnostic as well. After all, he's a man who believes in ghosts and the like. He seems like the kind of person - scientific, sometimes stiff and rigid with certain ideals - that wouldn't be certain if there is truly a God or religious deity of some sort, despite his experience with spirits. Something tells me that he wants to believe there is a God of some sort, but being a man of science he has no way of proving it.**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Until next time! :)**


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Peter Venkman was a difficult person to get along with. Everyone knew that. Even _he_ knew that. With his combined personality and profession, he was what one might call "an obnoxious jock-type with an unhealthy and uncool obsession with ghosts." He wasn't sure _why_ he was so fascinated by the paranormal. Something about the mystery and strangeness he had perceived as a child while reading books and magazines by the dozens had urged him to explore this intriguing world.

Perhaps Peter's "obsession" was also due to his parents. They had never been invested in studying the paranormal as he was, but they hadn't disowned him or anything, either. They had given him the books and mags; they had encouraged him; they had been there at his college graduation when he had been given his diploma; they had cheered with he told them he'd gotten honors degrees in psychology and parapsychology. They weren't ashamed to have a son who worked in the paranormal world. They were _proud_ that he had followed his passions.

Peter wasn't feeling proud of himself at the moment, however. In fact, he felt downright miserable. Why? Because he'd acted like a complete jerk towards everyone, and he knew he wouldn't be forgiven for it anytime soon.

Sitting in the plush, faded, brown leather chair in his office space behind Janine's desk, Peter leaned back and sighed. Nothing was really bothering him, other than that Dana was decidedly ignoring his coquettish speeches over the phone. But all in all, there was nothing drastically wrong with his life that was causing him to act so insufferable. He just said and did things because that was who he was, and who he enjoyed being.

No. That was a lie. Peter didn't enjoy being insufferable. In fact, he despised it. He despised how he treated people. For instance, he wished he hadn't snapped at Louis Tully like he had. Sure, the guy was annoying and he'd made some really long and pointless calls a few weeks back just to chat with the Ghostbusters and catch up, but that was no excuse to be outright cruel to the man. Janine had been right - if Louis cared enough to personally visit them, then he was obviously a normal, friendly person. Peter had had no justification for the way he'd treated him.

He almost always acted tough, obnoxious, and cold-hearted on the outside, but he was more sensitive and kind on the inside. Of course, he didn't want everyone to know that unless they were friends and family of his. Even then he could be unnecessarily callous.

Peter supposed the inconsiderate, jerky side of him had come from his desire to fit in at school. He had actually been somewhat of the shy, nerdy type up until middle school, until the constant hassle of bullies caused him to completely change his personality. He'd latched onto the ideals of sports, late-night partying, and dating girls. By the time high school rolled around, a long, emotional discussion with his folks urged him to drop the theatrics and be who he really was, not who people wanted him to be.

Of course, Peter had taken up his old hobbies of reading about spiritual encounters, and watching science programs again. Some of his forced antics had stuck for good, however - he continued dating girls, and he went to numerous parties and stayed until two or three in the morning. He'd even come home drunk a few times in a police car. His personality had certainly had the most impact - he'd become almost permanently harsh and sarcastic, and he incessantly mocked other people. He just couldn't seem to shake those things off; those traits, undesirable as they may be, had dug their claws in and wouldn't let go no matter what.

But despite all of that, Peter's parents continued to support him. Perhaps their own personal experiences of trying to fit in drove hem to give their son some space, and allow him to figure things out for himself first rather than pushing him and causing him to rebel.

_Well, look at darling Pete now, Mom and Dad, _Peter thought bitterly. _Look at the selfish, unfeeling bastard I've become. _

He didn't _like_ being a bastard. He really didn't. But he had played the part so well, and for so long, that it had become his identity. And to be honest, it was _easier_ being a bastard. It helped him avoid his true emotions. . .his true _self;_ and it gave him a strong yet somewhat guilty feeling of satisfaction when he insulted people or blew them off.

Maybe now was the time to work towards a more long-lasting change. Peter had taken things too far this time. His friends didn't think his sarcasm and humor were funny anymore - they thought it was _annoying,_ and _rude,_ and _cruel._ But then they didn't completely understand, did they? They didn't realize why he was the way he was. . .because of the tormenting, the peer pressure, the depression.

The. . _.attempts._

Ray, Egon and Winston didn't know Peter - not really. They didn't know how much he had been changed by bullying. They didn't know that he had remolded himself in a more favorable image in order to _escape_ that bullying which had eaten away at him for so many years. They didn't know _anything._

But what's past is past. Life was about moving on, and making yourself better. And the first step towards improving one's existence was to realize the dire _need_ for such improvement, as well as a need for self-evaluation.

Peter had certainly hit another turning point in the road of his life. Now he had a choice.

He could continue being a jerk who insulted and pushed everyone away. . .or he could finally pull off the monstrous facade he had worn for too long and be the quirky, sensitive nerd he really was on the inside.

* * *

Charles Moriarty was not a confident man. This unfortunate fact often meant his nervousness, along with his kind, gentle nature, stuttering speech, and excessive weight, made him an easy target for ridicule and mockery. Charles usually just smiled and nodded, taking in the cruelty and not letting it bother him. But in truth, the taunting really got to him. Really, _really_ got to him. He kept most of his feelings bottled up, of course. If he told people how he felt, then the taunting would only get worse. He would be accused of being too sensitive, and too weak. It was better to keep silent and stubbornly cling to the slowly diminishing hope that not everyone was so completely unfeeling and soulless as the members of humanity Charles often encountered.

That wasn't to say Charles kept silent all the time in certain situations where he was being mocked. Sometimes he was able to make it perfectly clear that a person's comments towards him were not acceptable, and if that person stopped, they usually apologized - albeit grudgingly or in a smart-ass manner. But if Charles did not directly address someone about their remarks right off the bat, they kept up their little mind game, pushing every button they could until the museum curator's defenses shattered. Then he was left helpless to stop the vicious words from flooding in and drowning him.

The good thing was, Charles wouldn't have to put with any of that for much longer. After all these years of torment, he would finally know peace, because soon, all of mankind would perish. Soon, Charles would be freed from the ravages of despair that had relentlessly eroded at his soul for his entire life.

Soon, Charles Moriarty would be more than a confident or articulate or even a tough-hearted man. He would a powerful and forbidding one, upon who all would look at in awe, and cower away from in fear.

And as Charles sat in his office, anxiously drumming his fingers against the mahogany surface of his desk, he couldn't help but shiver with anticipation. Things were about to change in ways he could only imagine. After all, he wasn't the only one being affected by current events and events-to-come. Those Ghostbusters. . .they were somehow going to be involved. Charles did not know the extent of their involvement, however - the Demon was never very clear when it spoke to him about things.

One thing _had_ been made clear. The world was ending. . .and only those who bowed down to the might of Hell would have any chance of survival.

* * *

By the time Janine and Egon left The Odeon, it was approaching ten o'clock and both of them were feeling pleasantly tired. Since they couldn't really hold hands, Janine contented to gently gripping Egon's upper left arm. In turn Egon slowed his pace, so that Janine could keep her grip and not get left behind.

They didn't have to walk very far, which was good. Egon knew Janine was eager to get some rest; as for himself, he was beginning to feel a dull ache in his ankle again. He'd have to take more medication before he went to sleep.

_I wish I didn't have to take medication at all, _Egon thought, _and I wish I didn't have to see a doctor about my recovery process, either. _

Egon was a secure man in many aspects, but when it came to doctors and hospitals, all sense of security flew out the window. The reason for this had been established when he was five years old. His father had taken him and his siblings to a small, family-owned hospital in Cleveland, for the purpose of educating them of the medical practice. Instead of learning about the art of being a doctor, however, Egon had unintentionally wandered off and discovered the horrors of severe injuries and preserved organs. The sights he'd seen had been so horrifying that he had gained a phobia of hospitals and its chilling occupants. Ever since then, he had avoided such troubling facets of life.

Until he had broken his ankle, Egon had managed to continue this firm avoidance. But a day after he had told Janine why he had kept his injury a secret she had rushed him to the nearest hospital to gauge the severity of his ankle fracture. Of course, the rest of the team had been informed of the emergency, to Egon's deep embarrassment. He had been bombarded with questions, too. But he'd hardly been of the right, sane mind to give answers, not when he had practically left dents in the chair he'd sat in from where his fingers had locked in an agitated, vice-like grip. He'd been terrified. He hadn't wanted to go the hospital at all; he'd made it clear to everyone. He'd done everything short of exploding with pure fear.

Egon still remembered when he and Janine had pulled up to Bellevue Hospital Center on First Avenue, to date one of the oldest public hospitals in the United States. He had stared at the building for a moment with wide eyes; then he had dug his fingers tightly into the car seat, and ashamed as he was to say it, he'd started shaking. He wasn't quite sure how Janine had finally persuaded him, seeing as her eventual threats had not worked. But somehow Egon had managed to extract himself from the car and hobble into the hospital. He had never let his guard down the whole time, not when he was checked over by doctors and nurses, nor when patients in varying states of suffering were wheeled past. He had tried to put a block on his emotions, the only thing he'd learned from his father than was actually useful.

The thing that had bothered Egon the most about being at the hospital was the psychiatrist. Egon's doctor - a man by the name of Mayfield - had suggested that he should see one of the hospital's psychiatrists for a little while, since ignoring and hiding an injury apparently meant something troubling. Egon hadn't outright objected to the idea, but he was not pleased with it, and said psychiatrist - Dr. Pierce - had tried to get the brainy Ghostbuster to talk about things that were bothering him.

At first, Egon had mostly stayed silent. He only answered basic questions like _what do you do for a living? _and _what's your favorite color? _and _what are your hobbies? _Those were questions that could be easily answered, without giving deeper aspects of one's self away. But when Dr. Pierce started asking things like _are you in a romantic relationship? _and _do you have trouble expressing your emotions? _Egon started closing himself off more, his responses growing increasingly vague. That had worried Dr. Pierce, apparently, because he wanted to continue seeing Egon if he could, and help him open up.

If Janine had not been with him, he would have undoubtedly declined Dr. Pierce's offer. But he knew how much Janine and his team were worrying about him, so despite his inner conflicts, he had agreed to meet every other week with the psychiatrist on Mondays.

That had satisfied everyone sufficiently. Egon still had his uneasiness about the whole affair, of course, but at least in the end his ankle had begun the proper healing process and he could still be a active Ghostbuster. That was what was important.

Egon sighed. He felt a bit better emotionally now that he had been thinking things over. He didn't have a lot of time to really sit and contemplate, and the fact that he was able to find some time now was a relief. Between working in his lab and busting ghosts, Egon was glad for any brief opportunity to look at things and reevaluate them, putting everything back into perspective where after awhile he might have lost it.

Doing this was a much easier feat when he was relaxed, such as he was now in Janine's presence. Somehow, Janine simply being with him made him realize how foolish he could be about things, and how he blew problems out of proportion. She also comforted him in a way that only one other person in life had. This other person happened to be his mother, Eva Spengler. She and Janine were two of the only handful of women who had ever made him feel loved.

Egon had aunts and grandmothers who had loved him, too, of course. . .but he had not lived day to day with them, struggling with life's problems. Hence the reason why Janine and his mom meant so much to him.

_Someday I'll come home and thank you for everything you did to help me, Mother, _Egon thought. _Someday, I won't be so afraid of Father that I'll come and hug you so tightly and tell you how much I love you. _

"Egon, are you alright?" Janine asked suddenly, snapping him out of his reverie.

"What?" he replied distantly. It took Egon a minute to realize that they were standing in front of Janine's car. He looked around blankly, then fixed his attention solely upon Janine; had they both been standing here for a long time or something, with Egon being lost in thought? Was that why Janine was looking at him worriedly again?

"I. . .I'm fine," Egon replied eventually, blinking slowly. "I just have a lot on my mind. How long have we been standing here?"

"Not long. Maybe three minutes," Janine answered. "I thought maybe your ankle was bothering you, but then you got a pensive look on your face and I thought. . .well, I thought you wanted to wait before you got in the car. I didn't want to disturb you or anything."

Egon didn't reply for a moment; he reached out and tested to see if Janine had unlocked his side of the car yet. She had. The door yielded to his efforts and opened. Janine must've unlocked it when he was distracted.

"Let me get your crutches for you," Janine offered. She removed the crutches gently from beneath Egon's arms, and held both of them in her right hand. Her other hand grabbed Egon's right arm, the support aiding him in getting safely into the vehicle. When he was inside, Janine closed his door and proceeded to place the crutches in the backseat of the car. Then, when that was finished, Janine came around to the driver's side and climbed in.

"We can drive around for awhile," she offered, after a moment of silence in which she watched Egon wince slightly and close his eyes. "If you think being around Dr. Venkman will stress you out more. . ."

"No, I'll be fine," Egon insisted softly. He blinked and took a deep, weary-sounding breath; he also flexed the fingers on his right hand, as if they had started to cramp up. "I'm just really tired, and kind of out of it at the moment. I apologize."

Janine seemed to relax a little at this admission. "No need to apologize," she smiled. "I'm tired, too. Oh, and Egon?"

Egon turned to look at Janine as she paused slightly. "Yes, Janine?"

"Thank you again for taking me out to dinner," Janine replied. "I really enjoyed spending time with you."

A smile of Egon's own spread over his face. This woman could never knew the depth to which her words and her whole being meant to him. Try as he might to express himself better, his love for Janine was something that could never be fully described in words. That didn't bother Egon, though. Love was, at times, an indescribable feeling that language could only represent to a degree. Peace, freedom, joy. At one time he thought he would never feel any of these things, being so crushed and brainwashed as he'd been.

But getting injured had succeeded in collapsing Egon's mental barriers. He slowly began to realize that his feelings towards Janine were not platonic or even non-existent; he discovered that he loved her very much and didn't want to let her go. He realized that while his past had been painful, he shouldn't let it dictate what was present; this, of course, was a problem he was still working on. He also realized that he could be _happy,_ and _free,_ and that his father was no longer a part of his life - no longer a black presence erasing all sense of free will and identity from his soul.

He could be himself at long last. He could be a human being and not a machine.

All of these things made Egon glad that he had broken his ankle. If he hadn't, he knew he would've continued suppressing his feelings, the heavy influence of his past making him detached and cold. He still had a long ways to go before he actually felt completely normal. After all, he could still detach himself emotionally when a situation became too stressful or excruciating.

But Egon was confident that he was on the right track, and he was also certain that in time, he could escape the blackness and despair that had hang over him for most of his life and become a better man.

* * *

_It is time, Charles Moriarty. _

Charles made a squeaking sound as he heard the voice inside his mind, and almost jumped out of his seat. He calmed down after a moment when he realized it was only the Demon communicating with him. He relaxed reluctantly, putting a hand over his pounding heart as his tense body settled comfortably again in his office chair. He was becoming more accustomed to this mental voice of the Demon, certainly, but it still succeeded in startling him with its suddenness and intensity.

"Th-That is good news, my Lord," Charles stammered in reply. The Demon insisted he call it "My Lord" or any other honorable variations, a demand he was not prepared to argue with.

_Yes. Yes, it is very good news, _the Demon rumbled, a light chuckle shimmering through its words. _You have been a good servant. . .better than some, I must admit. For now, however, your assistance will not be needed. I shall gain energy from a new, stronger host and proceed with opening the gates of Hell to release my brethren. When we are rulers of the earth once more, you shall be greatly rewarded. _

"I b-bless you for sparing me, my Lord," Charles said. "I promise, I will worship you for all of time. A-And when you decide to so kindly grant me p-power over my fellow kind, I will work hard to p-please you and the rest of the creatures from H-Hell."

The Demon chuckled once again. _Good. I trust that you will stay out of my affairs until everything has taken its course. I do not react kindly to those who go against my strict instructions, or those who try to escape my power. _

Charles had no intention of doing that, and he knew the Demon understood that. After what it had done to those museum workers, escape or disobedience were far from Charles's mind.

"I shall remain f-faithful to your wishes, my Lord," Charles promised.

_I know, _the Demon replied, its wicked smile almost audible. _Now you shall, as the rest of those filthy humans say, sit back and enjoy the show._

And with these last chilling words, the Demon's presence retreated from Charles's mind.

* * *

_Darkness surrounded him on all sides. Outside, rain pounded against the windows like gunfire, and thunder shook the house as if bombs were being dropped down from the heavens. He lay shivering upon his bed, the sheets pulled up to his eyes, eyes which looked around the shadow-covered landscape of his bedroom in fear. It was not the storm in particular that made him fearful, although it was startling enough in its own way. _

_No, he was afraid of the things he had seen. He was afraid, too, of being beaten again. His back felt like it was on fire, and despite all his acquired techniques to keep his emotions locked up, he felt tears burning across his cheeks. _

_He was alone and afraid. He was in pain. There was no one here to comfort him, or tell him that everything was alright, he could be afraid if he wanted to be, he could overcome his fears. But not even the person he relied on the most could help him. . .not when the person he _hated _and _loathed _the most kept her from doing so. This was supposed to be a lesson for him - dealing with physical pain after behaving in a "disgraceful and disgusting" manner. It was a lesson he couldn't handle. So he cried. He cried until he felt sure someone would come to check on him. _

_Then he heard a door creak. Opening his eyes, he stared ahead at where his closet sat. The sound seemed to have come from there. Its white, blank surface remained motionless, however - perhaps it had merely been settling. In an old house like this, things tended to creak and groan every once and awhile. _

_But as he watched the door intently, he saw it move ever so slightly forward. Then, stillness. A full minute passed before the door moved again, this time wider, as if something was pushing it. __Heart thudding, his gaze went to the window. Perhaps a gust of wind was causing the door to move. His breath caught in his throat as he realized the window was firmly closed, however. _

_What was going on? Was it the cat who was in his closet, perhaps snooping around? No, he realized. The cat always slept with his sisters at night, and never left. _

_He was about to get up and investigate when an eerie light suddenly illuminated the dark interior of his closet. Out of nowhere, as if by magic, this light had appeared. The crack of the door spilled it in a thin, glowing sliver across the wooden floorboards and against the rain-beaten window. _

_But the light, as mysterious and unexplainable as it was, could not even begin to compare to the level of fright that a sudden, chilling voice issuing forth from behind his closet door gave him. _

_"Eeeeegooon. Oh, Egooon Speeengleer. I'm coooming to geeet yooouu." _

_All capacity for rational thought was flung out into the storm as the closet door opened completely, revealing a towering, monstrous figure with the most terrifying face Egon had ever seen. It was like a creature from a horrible nightmare, with elongated ears, long, dark blue hair, and a smile that was huge and horrifying, rows of sharp teeth glinting in the light cast by the lightning that exploded outside. _

_"We're going to have fuuun, Eeegooon," the monster promised, its smile somehow becoming even scarier as it moved forward, one clawed hand outstretched. _

_"N-No," Egon squeaked, pushing himself as far away as he could from the twisted creature. He gathered his blankets tightly around him - a flimsy means of protection, but the only one he had - and fought not to quake with fear. "G-Get away from m-me, whatever you are!" _

_The monster laughed, the sound sending waves of cold, utter fear across Egon's whole body. Still laughing, it walked towards him, its eyes glowing with pure evil and delight as it outstretched both of its hands now._

_That was when Egon let out a blood-curdling scream. . . _

* * *

Egon bolted awake, breathing hard and covered in sweat. For a moment he was certain that he was back in that room, with the creature advancing upon him with its glittering eyes and clawed hands. But his disorientation swiftly vanished as he realized he was sleeping in his bed at Ghostbusters Headquarters, not in his old home in Cleveland, Ohio.

Egon breathed shakily in and out, closing his eyes to try and ward off the overwhelming sense of fear that still had a hold on him. He hadn't dreamed about that. . .that horrible _thing_ for a long time. He had repressed the very thought of it, or at least he believed he had. Now other memories were drifting to the surface - memories of sleepless nights and screams and the sickening feelings of helplessness and fear. As he leaned his back against the wall, still trying to calm his breath, he fought to keep these memories from completely coming to the surface of his thoughts.

"You okay over there, Spengler?" a voice piped up with quiet concern.

Egon turned his head, and realized it was Ray who had spoken. He was lying in his own bed on Egon's right, and as the brainy Ghostbuster watched he saw Ray push himself into a sitting position.

"Bad dream?" Ray asked softly.

"Yeah," Egon replied, breathless. "Sorry for waking you, Ray."

"I was awake anyway," Ray assured. "I've been staring at the ceiling for awhile, just thinking."

"Oh."

The two men were silent for a few moments, as Egon's breathing finally started returning to normal.

"Do you wanna talk about your nightmare or not?" Ray eventually questioned.

Egon shook his head. Then, realizing his friend might not see the gesture in the darkness, he answered, "I'd rather not."

"Yeah, figured you wouldn't. Well, I'll mind my own business, then. Try reading a science textbook or going down to the lab to relax maybe, okay?"

Egon smiled, Ray's comment bringing forward a more pleasure memory of the past. "You and I used to dabble in late-night science experiments in college," he remarked. "Remember when we snuck into one of the university's labs in order to work on that telekinetic theory?"

"Oh, yeah," Ray chuckled. "I still remember Dean Yager's face when he found us trying to move things with our mind. He got _so_ pissed. I still maintain that that project would've produced excellent results if the Dean hadn't destroyed our equipment and tossed it all in the trash."

The two men laughed as quietly as they could for a long time about that. They barely even noticed as Peter grumbled at them and pulled a pillow over his head in half-awake irritation. Winston, lying in a bed to Peter's right, did not stir at all; he was sound asleep.

"Anyway, reading or experimenting would be a good idea if you need to unwind some more," Ray said, smoothing his hair back.

Egon sighed, and through the darkness he turned his head and smiled at his friend. "I'll definitely consider doing one or both of those things, Raymond," he promised. "Thank you and good-night."

"Good-night, Spengler," Ray replied, before he slid onto his back again and seemed to fall asleep within a matter of minutes.

Egon slowly slid back into a horizontal position as well, but his eyes remained firmly open. Try as he might to suppress his feelings of fear, it kept haunting him - the overwhelming intensity of that fear, his dream, and the image of the creature he had tried so hard to obliterate from his memory.

There were some things Egon knew he could and couldn't control. Fear was something he definitely _could not _control, no matter how much he wanted to.

As Egon eventually fell into a troubled sleep once more, and tiredly forgot Ray's kind-hearted suggestions, he hoped that the shadows he had beaten back for so long within him would cease to break through and torment him all over again. He didn't think his psyche could handle much more stress.

At this rate, he knew he would start to shatter.

* * *

_Elsewhere, the Demon was chuckling with delight - it had managed to slip between the cracks of Egon Spengler's fragile mind, and was enjoying a bit of much-needed entertainment by looking in on his dreams. And, occasionally, twisting them around. _

_It was lucky to have caught Egon in such an unsteady state. Had he been of a sounder mind, the Demon would have found it more of a problem to break him down, bit by bit. __The spiritual essence it had left in the office at the Museum was one of its many subtler techniques to achieving this. It did not have enough energy to move beyond the Museum walls, even with the boost it had received from absorbing the men that had crawled about the underground theater. That was why that by Egon unknowingly taking in the essence of the Demon into himself, it could extend its influence inside of him, and begin to twist him to its liking. Once it succeeded in doing this, possession and assimilation of energy would be its next priorities._

_"Yes, that's it. Show me your soul, Egon Spengler. Show me your scars and your fears," the Demon whispered, drinking it the energy of Egon's delicious fear. Oh, the hidden surprises this man had! He was almost as satisfying as its now deteriorating host. "Show me the memories you have buried. Let me feed upon them. Let me crush you with them. Let your painful past shall become your downfall, paving the way towards the destruction!" _

_The Demon grinned to itself malevolently. "Oh, yes," it went on in a low, excited growl. "This show has only just begun."_

**Author's Note:**

**See? The plot's starting to move now! I really wanted to address more character depth-type things in this chapter, too. I also thought I should provide an explanation about Peter's behavior, and why everyone has been basically brushing him off in this story or telling him outright that he's a jerk. I wanted to take an angle with Peter that portrayed him in a more fragile, sensitive light. I also wanted to give a little more insight into Charles Moriarty's character. The same with Egon. I am intentionally setting things up here for future chapters of this story and for future Ghostbusters stories in general. Hopefully that adds more depth to said stories and gives a new depth to these characters as well. **

**Also, I just wanted to point out that the hospital I mentioned that Janine forced Egon to go to - Bellevue Hospital Center - is a real place. I had to look up the names of hospitals in the New York City area (since I don't live there and am unfamiliar with certain aspects of it), and I also found the location of the aforementioned Bellevue Hospital Center on Google Maps. It was the closest hospital to the building that was used as Ghostbusters Headquarters as far as I could see. Besides, I thought it would be nice to include another real place in NYC**** in the story instead of trying to create a fictional hospital.**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I enjoyed writing it and would love any feedback on it! Thank you! :)**


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

_The next day, 8:30 am_

"I was thinking we could check that museum out again before lunchtime," Ray said. He was currently standing over the stove in the second-floor break room, cooking breakfast for the team and himself. Pans of eggs and bacon sizzled deliciously, while nearby the coffee maker sat hissing and brewing.

"Whatever force we encountered yesterday was definitely strong and definitely angry," Ray went on. "I don't think it would be good to leave it wandering around for much longer. . .especially since it's already struck out in a vicious way."

A few feet away, Winston, Peter and Egon sat at a small, rounded table, munching on assorted pieces of fruit. At Ray's remark Peter looked up from his orange, furrowed his brow with chagrin, and said, "Ray, that thing was more than vicious. It killed a bunch of maintenance workers and left one of them as a psychotic mess. No way in hell am I going to let one of us end up either dead or crazy. It already frightened the crap out of us. Why invite it to do anything else?"

"We made a promise to Mr. Moriarty that we'd keep investigating, Peter," Winston pointed out. "Besides, if we don't catch this Demon soon, it might start killing even more people. And we obviously can't let that happen."

Egon nodded as he bit into a pear. "Winston's right, Venkman," he said. "We have to contain this thing before it's too late."

The gang fell silent for a moment, the only sounds of them uneasily eating their fruit, and of breakfast popping and sizzling rhythmically on the stove burners.

"Who wants toast?" Ray asked after a while. He turned his head and raised an eyebrow at his friends questioningly, who all swiftly chorused their desire to have toast. Ray turned back now, and reached for the cabinet to his left where the bread was kept; soon the toaster was filled with bread ready to prepare.

"The eggs and bacon are almost done, fellas," Ray promised. "They just need another minute to cook. The toast should be ready in a few minutes, too."

It went quiet again, only for a moment or two. Then Peter started bobbing his head from side to side, and shortly broke out in an impromptu song.

_"When your beard is burnt. . .and it don't taste good. . .who you gonna call? Toastbusters!"_

The other Ghostbusters instantly smiled, chuckled, and rolled their eyes.

"You've been listening to that new song out about us, haven't you?" Ray said, shaking his head with amusement. "The one by Ray Parker Jr.?"

Peter nodded. "Of course," he replied with a grin. "It's been playing constantly over the airwaves ever since we saved the city from the Goze and her slobbering cronies. Did you like the little twist I did there with the word toast?"

"That was actually pretty clever," Winston smiled, as he began biting into an apple.

"Yeah, that was a funny play on words," Ray praised. "Good job on not insulting a living, feeling human being for once, Venkman."

Peter was obviously satisfied that he had made his colleagues laugh, for his eyebrows waggled and an impish glow lit up his gaze.

"What's your verdict on my wordplay, Spengs? Yay or nay?" he questioned, looking towards his reserved friend.

Egon rolled his eyes in an amused manner. "It was clever and funny like the others said," he answered.

"Aw, come on, Egon," Peter laughed, nudging the brainiac's arm. "I wanna hear _your_ opinion, not a regurgitation of what other people have said."

"Wow, Peter," Winston said, raising his eyebrows in teasing surprise. "You actually used a big word, _and_ in a descriptive context. Good job."

Peter shot a mild glare in Winston's direction.

"You're pushing it, Zedd," he warned playfully, as his three friends began laughing.

"You better watch yourself, Venkman," Ray piped up. "Your inner nerd is showing."

Peter shot to his feet, assuming a teasingly angry expression. "Alright, now _you're_ the one who pushed it, Stantz. C'mon, it's you and me, one-on-one."

"I can't fight you right now!" Ray insisted, as he picked up the pans of eggs and bacon and began emptying the contents onto the four plates he had set out on the counter. "I'm trying to play mother here and make you poor boys some breakfast before you go off and fight ghosts! Big,_ strong_ boys like you need their protein, after all!"

Winston and Egon lost it at this point, while Peter pretended to get even angrier. He was actually trying to keep from falling down into a fit of hilarity himself.

"I'll show you whose a poor boy needing protein!" Peter roared, making as if to lunge at Ray. "Come on, you soft marshmallow! Show me what you got!"

A suddenly pained expression entered Ray's features, and his laughter and amusement quickly retreated. "Aww, Peter," he moaned. "Did you _have_ to ruin the mood and remind me of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man?"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, until a look of realization dawned on his face. He had completely forgotten about Mr. Stay Puft; in the wake of defeating Gozer and Egon hiding his injury, he had let the memory of the giant creature fade into the background - surprisingly, considering its size and menace.

Peter hadn't even recognized the implications of calling Ray a soft marshmallow until just this moment. Now a huge grin began crawling across his face as he slunk closer to his distraught colleague.

"Oh, yeah," Peter said casually. "I seemed to have let that little gem slip from my mind. Refresh my memory here, Ray. Were _you_ the one who unleashed a hundred foot marshmallow on all of New York City? I seem to remember something about the thought just_popping_ in there, and how you used to roast marshmallows at some camp when you were a kid. . ."

Ray looked at Peter in despair. "I'm sorry, okay?" he squeaked. "I couldn't help it. I just thought. . .well, you know. . .that Mr. Stay Puft would be the least harmful thing that could try to destroy us. I didn't realize how much damage he'd really do, to be honest!"

Peter couldn't resist a smile - a genuine one. "Ray, calm down," he assured. "I'm just messing with you. But you know, maybe we should've gone with _my_ suggestion - that is, letting J. Edgar Hoover come and destroy us. If anything he wouldn't have left behind a gooey mess."

Ray was not amused anymore. With a mingled look of helplessness and irritation, the heart of the Ghostbusters picked up one of the plates of eggs and bacon, grabbed a piece of toast, slapped the toast roughly onto said plate, and finally shoved the whole thing into Peter's hands.

"Just sit, shut up and eat, Venkman," Ray ordered; his voice was quiet but full of layers of unspoken threat.

"Yes, Mother," Peter replied without missing beat, as he put on a shame-faced look and began walking back towards his seat, his shoulders slumped in surrender.

* * *

"Where the hell is Janine?" Peter asked sometime later, when he and the guys had finished their breakfast and made their way downstairs to the lobby. "Shouldn't she be doing paperwork or taking calls right about now?"

"It's only a few minutes after nine," Winston said, glancing at one of the Firehouse's wall clocks nearby. "Give Janine a break. She probably got caught up in traffic."

"At nine o'clock?" Peter countered exasperatedly. "What, did she decide to stop by a beauty salon on the way over and get a manicure?"

"Why are you making such a big deal out of it?" Ray asked, staring at his friend with concern. "I mean, I know you're always a jerk and everything, but lately you've been acting out of line even for you. Are you feeling okay?"

"You already pushed me once, Puft Man," Peter retorted, and no longer in a humorous way. "I''m_not_ letting you push me a second time with your whole "feel sorry for Peter" attitude. So I'd appreciate it if you all minded your own damn business and let me deal with my problems like a grown man."

Ray, Egon, and Winston all visibly flinched at their friend's harsh words, all of them too stunned to reply to his suddenly angry demand. Slowly, Peter's anger fell away, and an expression of numb shame crept its way over his visage.

"I. . .I didn't mean that," Peter insisted quietly, swallowing in embarrassment. "I'm sorry for saying all of that crap to you guys, and to Janine."

Now everyone, including Ray, stared at Peter with wide, disbelieving eyes. They had never heard Peter directly apologize for saying something that was obviously scathing, sardonic, or insulting. The fact that he had actually apologized now was a cause to be both speechless and bewildered.

"A-Are you serious?" Ray managed to ask, trying to regain some sense of reason. He had to blink several times and take a deep breath to collect himself more fully. "Are you _actually_ sorry?"

Peter simply nodded - again, he offered no sarcastic or disparaging remarks; only a conciliatory look graced the man's face.

"Yeah, I'm serious," he said after a moment. "I've had a lot on my mind recently. I didn't mean to be such a jerk."

"It's alright, Peter," Winston assured, though his tone and expression were still puzzled. "After all, we're all stressed out. I'd think you were crazy if you _weren't_ stressed."

"I agree with Winston," Egon piped up, his features and voice equally as perplexed as his African American colleague's. "Things have been rough lately. Between repairing the containment grid, getting new cases, and now having to sort out this Demon business at the Museum, I don't blame you for venting a little."

"Thanks, guys," Peter said with a small smile. "Thanks for understanding." His smile widened now. "Hey, do you all mind if I run upstairs for a minute? I want to make a personal call."

The other guys looked at one another; they were still uncertain how to react to this different side of Peter.

"Uh, sure, go ahead," Ray replied in answer to his friend's request. "We'll let you know if we get another case or when we decide to drive over to the Museum."

Peter nodded, and patted Ray on the shoulder appreciatively before turning and heading towards the nearby staircase. As soon as Peter vanished from sight, Ray rounded on his remaining two colleagues with wide eyes.

"What the hell's gotten into him?" Ray asked.

Winston shrugged, while Egon shook his head.

"I have no idea," Egon answered. "One minute he was his usual self and the next he wasn't."

"You guys don't think something's influencing him, do you?" Winston said, a worried look etching his face. "Or trying to possess him?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Ray insisted. "There would be other signs. No, I think Peter is honestly trying to be nicer for once. What prompted him to do this all of a sudden, I can only guess. But I'm glad for the change, even if I don't completely understand it."

The others agreed - while Peter being nice was strange, it was a much-needed breath of fresh air. The only question was, how long would this "nice guy" attitude last?

And when would Peter revert back to his old ways?

* * *

Peter dashed for the Firehouse sleeping quarters as soon as his feet touched the second floor. He had more than one person in mind that he wished to call, and he wanted to do it now while he was still thinking about.

Peter practically threw himself onto his bed when he entered the room. It was the third one from the door, with Winston's bed bordering his right side and Egon's his left, when he was lying down. Otherwise it was the reverse when he was standing.

Fixing himself into a more comfortable position, Peter reached for the bedside table to his right and grabbed the personal phone he kept there. He then punched in the number he desired in swift order, and put the phone snugly between his ear and shoulder as he settled onto his back. A distant ringing let him know that his call was being put through to the other line.

A moment later a female voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, Dana," Peter greeted. "How're you doin'?"

"Oh, Peter, hi," Dana replied. Her tone was both slightly surprised and borderline irritated. "I'm fine. You just caught me in the middle of cello practice. I almost didn't hear the phone ring."

"Oh, you still play the cello? That's great. It's always fun to have a hobby. I mean look at Egon, collecting his fungi and mold and spores. Playing an instrument is neat, too, you know," Peter found himself rambling.

Dana made a weary sighing sound. "Look, Peter," she said. "Is there a reason why you called, or did you just want to babble like a fool? Or better yet, were you planning to try and serenade me again?"

Peter laughed lightly. "No, no," he insisted, quickly turning serious. "No, I just want to call you to say that I'm. . .sorry."

There was silence on Dana's end. It lasted for so long that Peter had to tentatively say, "Dana?" to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

"Oh, right," Dana stammered after a second. "Sorry, I'm just. . .confused. What are you sorry for, exactly?"

"For acting like a hormone-crazed teenager," Peter clarified. "For trying to force myself on you. For pushing you to love me when you clearly weren't interested. I really feel bad for being that way, and I wanted to apologize."

"Uh-huh. Sure." Dana sounded completely unconvinced. "Are you just saying these things to win a bet with one of the guys?"

Peter groaned with frustration. Did Dana really not believe him? "Dana, I'm not trying to win a bet. I honestly want to amend things between us. No more flirtatious calls, no more serenading, nothing. I just wanted to say sorry and possibly offer us becoming friends, and just having a normal relationship."

A slight pause ensued, as if Dana were truly considering Peter's words.

"Okay," she relented. "Okay, Peter. We can try being nice, normal friends. I'm willing to see if that works for us."

"Great!" Peter burst into a smile. "Listen, maybe we could get together sometime and talk more, maybe over a cup of coffee. We could meet up say, tomorrow at seven?"

"Eight," Dana countered. "I have a creative arts workshop at seven tomorrow."

"Eight's fine," Peter agreed; his heart was fluttering with hopeful excitement now. "So, it's a date?"

"Yes, Peter," Dana chuckled. "It's a date."

"See you then," Peter concluded, and Dana responded likewise. His hand shaking slightly, Peter put the phone back in its receiver. Then he sat still for a moment, mulling things over; finally, he jumped up from his bed and whooped with joy.

"Yes!" he cried. "Yes, yes, yes! She's willing to hear me out! Oh God, yes!"

Peter continued celebrating for a few moments, a huge grin plastered on his face. When he was calmer he sat back on his bed, breathing hard. Slowly, his smile began to recede, because he remembered: he still had someone to call.

Make that _two_ someones.

With far less excitement than he had shown when dialing Dana, Peter picked up his phone again and inputted another number into the receiver keypad. It was a number so familiar to him that he could've dialed it in his sleep.

The line rung a few times, until finally a voice - this time male - responded.

"Daniel speaking," the male voice said.

Peter swallowed, suddenly feeling very nervous. Was this a wise decision, he wondered? Should he just hang up now and forget about everything? Was doing this even worth it?

"Uhh," he finally stammered anxiously.

"Hello, who is this?" the man named Daniel asked. "Hello?"

Finally, Peter forced back the lump in his throat, and responded properly.

"Hi, Dad. How are you? Is Mom there? I, uh, really need to talk to you both about something. I know we haven't talked heart to heart in awhile, so just bear me here. I've run into a problem, you see. . ."

* * *

Half an hour passed without a single sign of Peter returning downstairs. During that time Ray and Winston played a game of basketball, and Egon sat at Janine's still unoccupied desk, reading a book recommended to him by Ray: _Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, _by J.R.R. Tolkien. It was fairly interesting so far, though Egon was struggling to understand why hobbits and elves were relevant to anything in the real world. Still, the brainy Ghostbuster figured he should at least try and be a bit more open-minded about his literary preferences. He did enjoy science fiction, after all. At least, he _used_ to enjoy it.

"Hey, Spengler!" Ray called, breaking Egon out of his wandering thoughts. "How are you enjoying Tolkien's work so far?"

"It's certainly different from reading a science textbook," Egon answered with a small smile. "I must admit that I am slightly confused by the workings of this 'Middle-Earth'."

Ray chuckled. "You'll figure it out eventually," he assured, readjusting the gray hoodie and dark blue cargo shorts he wore. "Figuring things out is what you do best, Spengler."

_Figuring things out_ and_ slowly tearing myself apart at the seams, you mean, _Egon thought ruefully.

"Hey, not to change the subject, but something just occurred to me," Ray went on. His smiling face donned an expression of seriousness now, and the basketball he had been dribbling went still in his grasp. "One of us should call and find out where that man is who survived the Demon attack. What was his name again? Derek? Damian?"

"Dennis," Winston supplied helpfully. "Dennis Payne."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, him. We should see if he's able to answer any questions for us. Where's the nearest hospital with a psychiatric ward?"

"Bellevue Hospital Center is one of the closest and most reliable one that I know of," Egon replied. "That's where I go to have my ankle looked at."

"Call them up now and see if they have someone there under the name Dennis Payne," Ray told Egon as he walked up to the front desk, eyes aglow with excitement. "If he's in a state of mind to get visitors, I think one or two of us should go and talk to him. Meanwhile another two of us could head back over to the Museum and see if any new information can be discovered."

"Great idea, Ray," Winston praised, as Egon sprang into action and began dialing the Bellevue Hospital Center's number. "But how do we decide who goes to talk to Mr. Payne and who goes to the Museum?"

"Well, we just choose of our free will, I suppose. There's no need to draw straws." Ray nodded towards Egon. "You getting through, Spengler?" he asked.

"Yes, it's ringing," Egon said.

Ray turned to Winston. "So, what's your call? Payne or the Museum?"

"I'll take Payne," Winston answered. "Something tells me he might be easier to handle than the Demon."

"I'll go with you, then," Ray said. "Egon and Peter can check out the Museum. Is that alright with you, Spengler?"

Egon nodded. Then his eyes widened alertly as the faint voice of a receptionist could be heard addressing him. _"Hello. This is the Bellevue Hospital Center. How may we help you today?"_

"Hello," Egon answered. "My name is Doctor Egon Spengler. I'm speaking on behalf of the Ghostbusters. I'm calling in regards to a case which has come up, and I would appreciate it if you could help us in any way. You see, there is a man we believe may have been involved in a deeply unsettling paranormal encounter, and who may also have showed up at your hospital within the last few days. Would you be able to check your records for us? The man we're looking for is named Dennis Payne."

_"One moment, please," _the receptionist replied.

It fell silent again; wordlessly Ray, Egon, and Winston looked between one another as they waited.

_"There is a man under that name here, sir," _the receptionist soon confirmed. _"He was admitted to our psychiatric ward on September 23rd. I'm afraid the hospital has rules for who is allowed to visit patients in the ward, however. Contact is strictly limited to family of the afflicted patient at the present time. Are you at all related to Mr. Payne?"_

Egon looked up at his colleagues. "She's asking whether we're related to Payne," he told them.

"Why?" Ray asked exasperatedly.

"We probably have to be family members in order to see him," Winston piped up.

"Yes, she said we need to be family," Egon confirmed. "But we're facing an emergency. We_need_ to talk to Payne and see if he remembers anything about what attacked him."

Ray, who had fallen silent with frustration, suddenly grabbed the phone from Egon's hand and began to speak to the receptionist on the other line. "Uh, hello. This is Dr. Ray Stantz here, also of the Ghostbusters. Ma'am, we understand your policies, but we urgently need to speak to Mr. Payne. This concerns very serious paranormal business."

_"I'll speak to the president and see what he says, sir," _the receptionist promised. _"That's the most I can do at the moment."_

"We understand, ma'am," Ray said, a hint of disappointment creeping into his tone. "Thank you."

_"You're welcome, Dr. Stantz. I hope you have a wonderful day."_

"Same to you," Ray concluded, before putting the phone back down into its receiver. He then looked between his two colleagues and shook his head.

"So?" Winston said, raising his eyebrows to encourage his friend to speak. "What are you thinking, Ray? Do you think they'll let us see Dennis Payne?"

"I hope so," Ray replied. "This whole investigation may be riding on whether or not we can figure out what happened to Payne, and if more people will end up like him before this is all over."

Finally, with a last sigh, Ray excused himself to go and think quietly in his office.

* * *

Egon tried to get back into reading _Lord of the Rings, _but the effort proved to be useless due to his growing anxiety about both this case of the Demon and Janine's strange absence. The latter was beginning to wear away at him more than he cared to admit, and seeing that it was nearly eleven o'clock, he was strongly considering going out to look for Janine in the Ecto-1.

It was just as Egon was thinking this that Janine herself walked through the door of Ghostbusters HQ, thankfully unharmed. Her short brown hair seemed to glow, and her glasses were straight and perfect on her small, blushed face; she was also wearing a long, dark gray coat over a lavender sweater, black skirt and skin-tone stockings. The whole outfit was complete with purple high-heels.

Before he was even aware of what he was doing, Egon dropped the book he was holding, stood up, grabbed for his crutches (and only ending up with one, for the other one fell over) and hurried over to embrace Janine.

"Are you okay?" Egon asked when he pulled away, leaning back on his one crutch. "We've all been worried about you." In a quieter voice he added, _"I've_ been worried about you."

Janine giggled, her eyes glittering with apology. "I didn't mean to worry you," she said. "You see, I was on my way out of my apartment when my sister Victoria called from Chicago. She went on and on about how her husband left her and how she was devastated. Don't get me wrong, I was sorry for my sis, but good riddance to her husband Martin. He was an asshole. Anyway, once I got that sorted out I got in my car and started driving here. Well, guess what? The car broke down, so I went to find a pay phone and called to get the thing towed. After that I managed to catch a taxi to get here."

Egon's mouth quirked with a small, sympathetic smile, and he reached out to pat Janine on the shoulder. "I'm relieved you weren't attacked by a ghost of some sort," he said. "I was beginning to imagine the worst with that line of thinking. Anyway, I hope talking to your sister Victoria wasn't too unpleasant. I know it would be difficult to talk to any of _my_ siblings at this point. They almost feel like. . .well, like ghosts."

"Well, Victoria is as much a ghost than anything," Janine replied. "I hadn't spoke to her in over seven years until she called me this morning."

"That's better than the record _I'__m_ holding with my siblings," Egon assured soberly. "Twenty years and counting since we've stopped communicating with one another. And that's not including the pitiful birthday gifts I received from my utterly evil twin."

Janine couldn't stifle a laugh. "Utterly evil twin?" she repeated with an amused giggle. "Don't you think that's a bit harsh?"

"No," Egon deadpanned. Then his face cracked with a smile. "Okay, maybe a little. But if you met him - which I dearly hope you don't - then you'd beginning to understand what I mean more fully."

Just as Janine opened her mouth to respond, Winston and Ray appeared, walking out of Ray's office. They were both deep in conversation.

"Any new developments or concerns?" Egon asked them when they approached.

"Not yet," Winston answered. "The hospital hasn't called us back, and we just finished talking to Mr. Moriarty from the Museum. He said all is quiet over there, but that he's worried the Demon is plotting to strike again. He wanted us to head back over to the Museum as quickly as we can."

Egon nodded, while Ray and Winston turned their attention to Janine with evident relief.

"Hey, little lady," Ray greeted with a smile. "You doin' okay?"

"I'm fine," Janine replied with a chuckle. "Thank you, Ray."

"You had us worried," Winston said, patting her shoulder. "Especially Egon. He never said it outright, but I could read his body language. That's a sign of a devoted future husband right there, Janine. Keep that in mind."

"Well, thank you all," Janine assured, smiling even wider at Winston's remark. "I just had some personal mishaps to deal with." She glanced around briefly as if looking for something. "Hey, what's Dr. Venkman up to? I figured he would want to give his two cents for all they're worth."

Now all three men exchanged an uncertain look.

"Well, Janine," Ray finally said, breaking the silence. "It's a long and rather _confusing_ story. Why don't we sit down and discuss it in the break room beside my office?"

Furrowing her brow, Janine could only consent as she was ushered towards the aforementioned break room by Ray and the others. Something had obviously happened, and it concerned Peter, Janine realized, as she watched Egon pick up his fallen crutch.

The thought that kept concerning Janine was what exactly _had_ happened to Peter that was making his fellow team members worried and uncomfortable. And did Janine even want to know the truth, for that matter?

Just then, however, Janine's eyes met Egon's; after a second he offered her a smile.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "Nothing awful has happened. Peter's just been acting out of sorts."

"How out of sorts?" Janine countered, raising an eyebrow.

As she and the guys all filed into the break room and claimed some chairs to sit in, Ray finally answered, "Well, Peter is usually a jerk...I mean, it's his defining trait, y'know. But earlier he seemed as though he was actually trying to be apologetic and considerate after he made some wisecracks. It was weird and totally unlike Peter."

There was a brief pulse of silence, and then Janine spoke. "Well, it doesn't surprise me, in a way," she said. "When Egon fractured his ankle and just seemed to be getting sick, Doctor Venk. . .I mean Peter. . .actually seemed to care about Egon's well-being. It was the way he did things - like sitting at Egon's beside, talking to him when he was half-awake, wiping the sweat off his forehead - that made it seem like he was genuinely concerned. I don't know. . .Peter just seemed so sensitive when he was taking care of Egon. It was like he was a completely different person."

Ray nodded. "That's how Peter was earlier," he said. "It was like he was a different person. But I want to know why. I mean, he isn't always a jerk. I'll admit that. But maybe. . ."

"Maybe he's suffering from a guilty conscience," Winston finished.

Ray nodded. "Exactly! That _has_ to be what it is!"

"It makes sense," Egon agreed. "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"Sherlock Holmes, right?" Winston queried.

Egon smiled in a pleased way. "Yes, it is. There are many wise words to be found in literature, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's work is near the top of my list where that's concerned."

Before either Winston, Ray, or Janine could respond, the phone began to ring. Janine glanced around at her team members for a moment before stepping out of the room and answering the call.

A few words were exchanged between the secretary and the unknown caller. Then the sound of a click alerted Ray, Winston and Egon that the phone had finally been placed back its receiver, while the tap of heels against the floor signaled Janine's approach back to the break room. When she appeared once again, her expression was grim but worried.

"That guy from the museum called," she said. "He wants you all to drive over right away; apparently it's an emergency."

The others already dreaded the answer, but nonetheless Ray thought it necessary to ask, "What kind of emergency?"

Janine inhaled anxiously before replying.

"There was another attack by the Demon...and it claimed the lives of two more victims."

**Author's Notes:**

**And yet another cliffhanger! Dun dun dun! **

**There's not really a lot to say about this, other than that things will start to get even more exciting. Please let me know what you all think! :)**


End file.
